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MY 



OLD NOTE BOOK 



IN PRINT. 



BY 



JOHJ M. DENIG 



PUBLISHED £T THI AUTHOK. 

COLUMBUS, OHIO. 
1 86 1. 



77C 
f8(> / 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the 

year 1861, by 

JOHN M. DENIG. 

In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of Ohio. 



2i <\ ^ i.. ^ 



To E. B. ARMSTRONG Esq. 

Dear Jew, 

Having been solicited by a number of 
my friends, to publish the contents of ** My Old 
Note Book, " I have done so for their especial ben- 
fit, use and abuse. 

As for the contents of the volume, they are a true 
copy of the original manuscript; without alteration or 
amendment to suit the prejudices of any person, par- 
ty, denomination or sect, and as I have written for 
neither money nor popularity, I feel superlatively in- 
different about either the praise, or censure of the 
reader. 

To you, as an old and cherished friend, as the com- 
panion of many of my happiest hours, as an estim- 
able and respected fellow citizen; and as a gentleman 
of poetic talent, of literary merit and high apprecia- 
tive ability, permit me to dedicate this little volume. 

JOHN M. DENIG, 
Columbus, 0. 1861. 



COKTEMTS. 



NUMBER ONE. 

The Washing Day — Mysterious Noises — The 
Old Sow— The Victoria Bonnet 5 

NUMBER TWO. 

Hymeneal Scandal — A Parody 14 

NUMBER THREE. 

The Great Flood — The Rushing of the Waters 
Hunting clothes in the dark — All afloat — A 
useful stove — Leather going up — Whiskey 
going down — Settlement of accounts — The 
Glutton's dream— An old soaker 18 



CONTENTS , 



NUMBER FOUR. 



Potato Speculation — Fat Bacon for Breakfast 
Scabbies Infernalis — The Criminal — Chaos 
Syrup of Grapes — How to learn german, . . 33 

NUMBER FIVE. 
Conclave of Scandal — An important individual 
— Views from a balcony — Old Davy Dible- 
biss— The Fourth of July &c. &c 54 

A Parody, 16 

David Black, and his son Richard, - - 139 

Dead Shot for Bachelors, - - - - 61 
Dirge of the State House Bell, - - - 93 
Epitaph on Dougensbread Forbess, - - 74 

Epitaph on Joe Martin, - - - - 1 36 

Epitaph on Stingy Davy, - - - - 105 

Farewell to the Jew, 120 

Fat Molly, - 117 

John Fortney's Courtship, - - - - 106 
Kitty 0* Clack, - - - - - 126 
My £)'ative Mountains, - - - - 89 
On Judge Hardhead, - - - - 96 
The City Fact, 103 



CONTENTS. 

The Glutton's Dream, 31 

The Victoria Bonnet, ^ 

The Vision, '^'^ 

To Album Contributors, - - " - 69 

To Bess Fotzinger, 48 

To Col. Simonton, ^^ 

To my friend Andy, ®5 

Widow Jones, '^^ 



CORRESPONDEIVCE. 
rVuiiiber One. 



21' ConntilUhurg , Oct. 1842. 

Brothers — A and E 

You doubtless remember the 
promises wliicli I gave in my last, to write you a long 
letter by your mother. When I penned that promise 
I had the prospects of several weeks to do it in. But 
as she has rather suddenly taken a notion to return 
home, I cannot possibly in the time left to me, write 
such a letter as I intended. Il()\ve\tr if a few partic- 
ulars of a humorous nature will be Mny compensation 
for the disappointment you Iiave .-ustained, I will 
freely give them. 

Materials for the manufacturing of entertaining 
narrations, are vastly scarce litre: verily there is not 
enough of news afloat to keep the hinges of the gos- 
sips' jaws from rusting, and if such a peaceful state of 
affairs long continues to exist, 1 fear t^vat the chin of 
the old women will begin to sprout forth that bristly 
luxuriance, the growth of which ever since the crea- 
tion, has been prevented, by the never ceasing mo- 
tion of this lower half of the vent of the patent slan- 



6 WASHIKQ DAT. 

der manufactory. Every lover of slang will deeply 
sympathize with those circulators of doubtful intelli- 
gence for the distressing insufficiency of interesting 
personalities — the number of ill-contracted marriages 
and illegitimate births has of late years so remark- 
ably diminished, as to render the epitome of scurril- 
ous interchanges almost as irksome as the figured 
statistical and geological pages of a Canal Commis- 
sioner's report. 

I must now slide from the general to the particu- 
lar. The peculiarly affecting nature of the following 
narration requires that this subject be set forth in 
language which will not cause too lively an excita- 
tion of the sympathetic passions, for an unvarnished 
and unimbellished simple relation of this melancholy 
incident, is sufficient to overwhelm the mind of any 
one who is not callous to all the softer emotions of 
human nature. 

To commence. Sometime in the early part of the 
past summer, when, aUliough the days were strech- 
ed to their utmost extent, our dinner continued to be 
one of those equivocal meals that are made subser- 
vient to washing, scrubbing, ironing, visiting, &c. 

The certainty and uncertainty of this very neces- 
sary part of corporeal replenishing being regulated by 
such an innumerable host of disagreable contingen- 
cies, gives us in general but iiltle hope of enjoying 
this great dieletical event of the day. 

On a day uf this kind above described, ft late 



MTSTERIOUS NOISES. 7 

breakfast had prepared our stomachs to fast for an 
early supper. The dining hour of high noon arrived 
and although the merry bells around, rang joyful 
news for the empty bellies and rumbling bowels of 
every herring-gutted journeyman and half-starred 
apprentice, yet we were destined to await in dull ex- 
pectancy the tardy hour of supper, which seemed 
to glimmer in the dim distance of futurity, scarcely 
visible through the interminable avenue, into which, 
hunger had manufactured the intervening hours. 

The wheels of time rolled slowly and heavily along 
until they brought us within hoping distance of the 
important period. At this time while R 1, -my- 
self and our suh, were all in the store waiting with 
painful anxiety, expecting every moment to be cal- 
led to a sumptous repast. Various noises were 
heard underneath us in the f!j rinf/ hov^e, such as the 
rattling of dishes, uncovering and it c.ivering of bread 
barrels, the shipping and replacing o!" crock-lids, &c. 
The general impression wah; l.;ii (Uu- preparations for 
the evening meal were go'ng oa below, and moreover 
the whole of us being pretty well v( iv-ed in the diacj- 
nosis of meal-getting, cinie to tlu' conclusion from 
the symptoms manifested, that scnielliing more than 
ordinary, such as waffles, frittx is, pi-uicakcs, or some- 
thing else of the batter kind was to be expected. 

The aforesaid noises continuing for some consider- 
able length of time, we began to entertain sundry 
various doubts rer-pccting tl^e probable cause of the 



8 THE OLD SOW. 

sounds under consideration. Accordingly a committe4 
of one was appointed, duly and legally authorized and 
empowered to make a thorougk investigation, both 
as to the nature of this subteraneous commotion and 
what were the prospects of a relief from that intoler- 
able acuteness of gnawing hunger, to which our ap- 
petites had now been whetted. The committee forth- 
with proceeded below, when awful to relate an old 
sow, one of those outrageous, invincible and piratical 
prowlers and depredators on the property of peaceful 
citizens, had entered the spring-house and upset 
twelve crocks of milk, eaten two rolls of butter, and 
the only loaf of bread. 

When discovered the four-footed offender was 
standing knee deep in milk, her head smeared over 
with butter, and her snout buried up to her eyes in a 
crock of yeast. 

The indignant shout of the now assembled house- 
hold aroused the plunderer lu a sense of her danger, 
and with a terrij^le uncHiliily grunt she bounded over 
a pickle-jar, through a bread-basket of eggs, knocked 
over a churnful of bulter-milk and ruslied out of the 
door amidst a dreadful shower of brickbats, ladle.«, 
.sliovel?^, broom handles, candle sticks, and all other 
kind of (lomesti: weapons that the enraged household 
m the haste of their wrath could bring to the une- 
fjualed combat. 

Immediately after (he expulsion of the transgres- 



THE VICTORIA BONNET. 9 

sor, the house-maid proceeded to restore the hetero- 
geneous mass of crockery and culinary to some sort 
of order, which consumed the remainder of the eve- 
ning. Bread was sent for to the bakers', but it was 
not until the village windows were lit up from the 
tallow luminaries Avithin, that our sinking spirits were 
revived by the substantials of a hearty supper. 
Never have I undergone such a fast since the truant 
hollidays, and fishing Saturdays of boyhood. 

Now my dear fellows this must suffice for the pres- 
ent. Don't foi-get to write a long letter to me the 
first opportunity. Remember I shall take no excu- 
ses. In the mean time I remain that warm hearted 
brother who has ever had your welfare dear to his 
bosom. Adieu. 

JOHN. 

P. S. Enclosed I send you a few verses which I 
have composed for the benefit of the fair sex; to whom 
I intend to exhibit tlu-m as fast as I make their ac- 
quaintance. 



The Vii'tori*'^ Iloisatef. 

Ye daughters of Co1uml)ia fair, 
Blush when 3'ou read this- sonnet; 

To see your folhes censured here 
In the Victoria Bonnet. 



10 THE VICTORIA BONNET. 

Kow ever since the British Queen 
Has set upon the throne, * 

The wildest fashions have been seen. 
That fashion e'er has shown. 

These fashions are as various quite, 

As fashions of all nations; 
Yet we are told they're all the height, 

Of the Victoria fashions. 

Victoria hats both lined and faced, 

With rich Victoria lining 
Spangled with, ( though of cheaper cost ) 

Victoria jewels shining. 

Our streets thronged with Victoria muffs, 
Victoria hoods and wrappers; 

Victoria sleeves, Victoria cuffs 
Cutting victorious capei-s. 

Shoulder?; hung with Victorin capes, 
That steamship lale l)V()Ught word of 

Cut into tif y tiiousand sluipes 
Victoria never heard of. 

Vict(^ria shoeR our paveinc nts graced. 
Till fashioii camt; still \d\vv: 

The ancle then was (juiekly cased. 
In the Victoria LC^^'iter. 

The fasliion next you may suppose 

To be a kind of starter. 
But truth; iwas of her under clothes, 

Down to her very garter. 



TlTE VICTORIA BONNET. 11 

The bosoms fair, were tightly cased 

In the Victoria jacket, 
Stiff with Victoria stays twas braced, 

With eyelet holes to back it. 

The fashion next our ladies wore, 
Though they were seldom seen in, 

Victoria shifts trimmed down before, 
Made of Victoria linen. 

But of all fashions of the day, 

There's none depend upon it. 
That had such universal sway, 

As the Victoria bonnet. 

Its history thus briefly stands, 

A miUiner in Boston 
A stock of bonnets had on hands, 

Which she could not get cost on. 

She saw the follies of the age, 

For twas of sense a scant age. 
And studied well the foolish rage. 

To turn it to advantage. 

She cut and triMv.ncd these bonnets old, 

And clapi V ,■ oiia's name on, 
Then placed LiU ;n in her windows bold. 

As fashion latest came on. 

The thing soon took, and very well. 

In truth twas not a bad one, 
In three days every city belle 

Wiio could afford one had one. 



It THE VICTORIA BONNET. 

The news soon reached each country town. 

Many the bonnets went for, 
And all who could not travel down, 

The pattern quickly sent for. 

Old bonnets ripped inside and out, 
Bestrewed each work room table, 

Mammas and daughters bustle about, 
Engaged in glorious gabble. 

In sorting ribbons new and bright, 

The little country ladies, 
Employed their mammas day and night, 

And sorely grieved their daddies. 

The milk maid walked with measured tread, 
And careful crossed the gutter. 

While calculations filled her head, 
IIow she should sell her buLter, 

It all engrossed her humble mind, 
The bonnet's late improvement, 

For fear that she'd be left behind. 
The fashion's latest movement. 

Nor was her (roubled head at ease. 

Till industry liad won it, 
And placed lier butter and her cheese, 

In other shape upon it. 

Nor did the giddy current stop, 
But still was seen to wash on. 

Till ev'ry negro wenches' top 
Was bonneted in fashion. 



THE VICTORIA BONNET. \^ 

•Just at this time, ( and siiiv noiK^ ])Ut 

The milliners could wish so) 
The genuine Victoria cut> 

Came over ex-officioi 

Dh what a panic it did srHke> 

And what a dire dismay twas» 
The patterns weie no more alike 

Than oysters and potatoes. 

Now quickly matron, maid, and wife. 

Incensed to quite a fury. 
Sought in a mob this milliners' life, 

Without a judge or jury, 

But she who was the guilty cause 

Of all this public flurry. 
Soon found out what their object was, 

And fled in quite a hurry. 

So when the raging mob came up. 
Hot with their vengeance hissing, 

They smashed the door, rushed in the shop, 
But found the keeper missing. 

But now so high their wrath did burn. 
That nought on earth could hinder; 

They tore the shop from stem to stern, 
And burnt it to a cinder. 



lOURESPOADEXCE. 

I\isiiiil)er Two. 



i/"' Connellshurgy Aug. 25, 1843. 

Dear Brother E - - 

Again I commence another 
epistle dictated to your editication; but I fear I shall 
fall short of making it conserve to that end. 

In your last you seemed to think that I should 
write to you mere frequently and spin longer yarns. 
This, my dear fellow takes more time than I can 
spare. I have business duties which takes three- 
fourths of my time and studies, which consume the 
remaining fourth; but, I am willing to share the lat- 
ter portion in corresponding with my beloved friends. 

Things are progressing in this quarter of the earth 
pretty much as usual, with the exception of the or- 
dinary changes which the stream of time in its mighty 
course brings to the shores of mortals. 

Attendant materials for deep cogitation exists 
around us, especially in the 'productive ' part of the 
world. 

Here I see those who a few years since were my 
companions in the village school, now grown up to 
manhood, coupled themselves to some buxom lass 



HYMENEAL SCANDAL. 15 

and in a few years snrro\infl<'d with a bir; -foDtcd 
progeny of some balf-ilezt ii of st|ria]le)'s, ofu n mis- 
called blessings. 

*Tis then that the ri)manfe of vlreamy visions gives 
place to stern realities; the muimuring of running 
brooks, to the crying of hungry children, and the vo- 
luptous bewitchery of fairy tales to the washing and 
mending of dirty shirt tails. 

Many sage conclusions may be drawn by a con- 
templation of these matters, and which may in the 
event prove to be of much utility as many truths much 
more scientific. 

I hope you are still engaged in your literary pur- 
suits, and in storing your mind with useful knowl- 
edge. That by this time your habits of study are so 
completely formed as to render application, a matter 
of choice with you. 

Je n'ai pas le temps ou je vous ecrirais une lettre 
francais, mais il faut que vous attende jusqu'a ce que 
j'aurais plus du temps. Je viens d'ecrire une lettre 
Latine a'mon frere George. C'est une chose beau- 
coup plus difficile que d'ecrire une francais. 

L'cpouse de Jason Harb, mit du monde deux en- 
fan ts quatre mois apres leur hymenee'. II ne you- 
drait pas vivre aupres elle et ils obligaient de partir. 
II me semble qu'il n'est pas le pere de les enfants. 

Vraiment, c'est une chose curieux. Qu'en pensez- 

YOUS? 

Translate this for the rest of the family. 
Translation of the above paragraph. 



'•Jason ITarh's wife gave birlli to a pnir of twins, 
only four woiilhs afler Lheii' marriag-o, Cunscquently 
^U\ llarb would not live with her, and' they parted. 

It created some considerable talk liere for a few 
days, but the great current of human affairs has 
swept over it, and now it has faded into dim obscu- 
rity, ceased to occupy the attention of even the most 
idle curious. 

Business affairs are in a pretty prosperous con- 
dition with us, we are still doing our share. 

I will now conclude, but I can scarcely dignify 
this hasty scrawl with the name of a letter; but my 
dear E — ■ — , I give you as usual a promise, that if I 
can gather materials sufficient I will send you some 
lon^ce ambages the next time. In the mean time I re- 
main your affectionate brother. 

JOHN. 

P. S. As I sat yesterday looking at the workmen 
engaged in erecting a new building nearly opposite, 
my thoughts took a dreamy poetical turn, and grad- 
ually worked themselves into the following 

PAROBV. 

Past my door the dust was drifting — 

For an Irishman was sifting 

Lime and sand upon the street; 

Ever and anon the paddy. 

And indeed good reason had he. 

Wiped his brow^ oppressed with heat. 



TARODY. 17 

Yps, tlu- snn was very S(ar(-liini;\ 
For its rays were hot and scorcliing, 
Blinding with its 'ight his eye, 
Ev'ry minute lie was drenchinn^, 
Lips and tliroat in liopes of (puncliing 
Thirst, and yet he still was dry. 

The day Avas windy too, and dusty, 
Filled his eyes with sand, yet must he 
Labor till the hours weni by, 
And a Dutchman too was whiling 
Time, for he was slowly piling 
Brick in piles, some ten feet high. 

And a nigger there was sweating, 
Streams which every rag was wetting, 
Underneath a heavy hod — 
Painfully his back was bending. 
While with tottering footsteps wending, 
Up the ladders steep he trod. 

On the wall the trowel was clinking^ 

And the mason there was thinkingy 

Of long hours not yet begun. 

Oft impatiently was gazing 

On the sky where fiercely blazing. 

Stood that torrid noonday sun. 

All were sick with water drinking. 
Yet with thirst they all were sinking, 
But they feared to drink it more — 
For the burning thirst that followed, 
Ev^ry freezing draught they swallowed'. 
Made them fainter than before. 



i fJ TIIK f;'(!F.AT f-LOOD. 

Mv lioar< WIS n<»v.' witli sridnrss (juick< ned, 

Tn st'c the sons <>i' loil thus sickened, 

When I liU'^w relief was nigh; 

] had abimd;^int nricans to save them, 

80 I called them in and i>ave them 

Each a horn of good Old Rye. 



€ORRESPOi\DEi\CE 
I\iiBiiher Three. 



M' Connellshiu-gy 1844. 

Brothers — A and E 

According to my promise 

I set myself about the laborious task of writing you 
a long letter. And in order to diminish the labor on 
my part, to avoid repetition, and save time, I dictate 
the epistle to both of you. 

When I think how much I have to write, and heap 
together in my own mind the scanty materials, from 
which I have to spin a yarn of words and weave a 
web of varigated expressions, I cannot but exclaim 
0, quid mihi o'portet facer e ut pej-Jicimn tonium laho- 
rum. that I had a mental kaleidoscope into which 
I might cast my httle stock of ideas, and shake them 



TiTK Kr.^niN . i-v iriF, watfrs. \^ 

into a t))ousaiu] various form^\ wlsn-li might oxpioss 
jK'rliaps more than I shall be aUlr to nnko thrm do 
with all my intelkctual efforts at their arranyenK nt. 
But as the marcli of invention has not proceeded far 
enough to make this resource available, I must be 
contented with tardy and laborious nature. 

It is time now that [ sliould broach the subject 
matter of the correspondence, and in doing so, instead 
of going back as far as the creation (as is usually the 
case of great historians, ) I sliall go no further back 
than the flood; of which 1 have promised to give you 
an account of. 

"The Cronological data of this remarkable event 
is fixed on Wednesday, the 6th, and Friday the 15th 
of September 1843. On the first occasion, after pre- 
vious wet weather, of some ten or twelve days, and 
a subsequent thundergust of six or eight hours, the 
peaceful slumbers of the inhabitants of our little vil- 
age were broken, by the rushing of the mighty 
waters, and they speedily left their chambers to save 
the floating contents of their cellars, . spring-houses, 
&c., but the waters soon abated, and after some 
washing and scrubbing ( which was most probably 
needed at all erents, ) every thing was restored 
to order and cleanliness. 

But alas ! there was no one here skilled in omens^ 
like Mentor, we could have foretold another reflux. 
The portals of the heavens opened, and from thence 
decended a shower unprecedented, and one of the 
most disastrous floods in the memory of every one 



20 HUM'lNfJ Cl.'ViHES KN THE DARK. 

tx!( [)■ 01(1 Jimmy A^^new, took place. Tlie earth 
having- bven soaked by continual rains, to a state of 
f^upcrsaturalion, ceased to absorb the torrents which 
incessantly poured from the 'heavens and the conse- 
quences was that every gutter became a creek, and 
every brook a mighty river. 

Although we had been warned by the former 
flood, and readmonished by a whole day's rain with- 
out intermission — although we had previously to re- 
tiring for the night, placed every thing above high 
water-mark, yet in the solemn stillness of the third 
watch of the reign of darkness, the watery element — ^ 
the noise of mingled voices — the rattling of buckets 
and the tread of heavy heeled boots — all were heard. 
In most precipitate haste to get our forked ends into 
our clothes, we groped about for matches and can- 
dles, rammed our legs into our coat sleeves, drew our 
pantaloons over our heads, hopped about hunting 
odd stockings and scattered boots, until we had our 
bodies covered in some manner, not being particular 
as to pinning jon collars and adjusting cravats. 

By this time the whole neighborhood was in a 
state of alarm and confusion; torches were seen flit- 
ting through the houses, and lanterns flying through 
the streets, men were hallooing, women screaming, 
boys laughing, children crying, dogs barking, and 
doors slamming, all in such a frightful chorus as 
could only be equaled by the midnight sacking of a 
stormed city. 

Our first move was for the spring-house, but here, 



ALL AFLOAT 2t 

the water had risen, so as to preclude all possibility 
of entrance, and all we could do, was to stand and 
look at tubs sailing round in all the majesty of seven- 
ty-four gun ships, riding contemptuously over milk 
and butter crocks long since buried in the raging 
deep. The only vessel that appeared to labor with 
the surge, was the picMe tub, and bad as we may 
imagine the pickle within, the tub was in a worse 
pickle than its contents. Long it struggled with the 
tide two inches from its top, until finally it sailed out 
of the door and we succeeded in extricating it from 
its perilous situation. 

We next proceeded to the cellar; and here a most 
terrible scene of submersion presented itself. The 
water had risen to the height of three feet, and every 
thing within, that was able to swim, was pitching and 
tumbling about, creating a univerp^l compound mix- 
ture of Dye-stuffs, Paints, Oils, Varnishes and 
Spices. 

The Blacking looked /;«/t' with friglit, and the Whi- 
ting as blue as the Blacking. The Epsom Salts shed 
tears at its approaching di.saoliiilon, and even bottles 
on the upper shelves, with their vionf.h.s sealed in 
dumb silence, trembled for their sat- y. 

We immediately entered, and wiiii a hiitorn in one 
hand, a steerins: oar in the other, boated round in 
boxes, and a stradle of barrels, with our legs doubled 
up, and our bodies bent at an angle of twenty-two 
and a half degrees with i.hc nuface (o keep our heads 



22 . LEATHER GOING UP. 

from bumping against the joists. After a great deal 
of fishing and sundry duckings, we got all things out 
that was possible, and left the remainder to their fate. 

By the time we had this accomplished day-light 
appeared, and we hurried to see how our neighbors 
were faring, and whether they or any of their effects 
were missing. 

The streets presented a scene of general excite- 
ment and commotion. All the inhabitants were on 
the move, running, carrying in mud and carrying out 
benches, tables and cupboards, upsetting crocks, 
breaking plates, scattering knives, forks and spoons. 
Owing to the drift-wood and other obstructions the 
water accumulated in Agnew's garden, until with a 
crash it swept away the whole fence, rushing down, 
burried Davidson's tan-yard four fcef under water. 
More on account of its specific gravity than any 
change in market, leather rose rapidly; so much so, 
that in five minutes all tlie contents cf the vats be- 
c?^Tc\e Jlodting capital. All liands snatched up rakes, 
hooks, hoop poles, and every available instrument 
and hastened to the rescue. Elias himself, up to his 
arm -pits in the water, commanded in person, and with 
the skill of a practiced pilot, steered packs of hides 
into the bark-shed behind the chicken-coop, and on 
top of the hog i)en or wherever they might anchor 
m safety until the ebbing of the tide. 

bhoemakerS; iailuis, taniierb, saddlers, and cob- 



WHISKEY GOING DOWN. 23 

biers with their coats off, and their pantaloons rolled 
up, might be seen under the porches, arches, and 
bridges, with hooks and grapples, dragging cut the 
half-tanned skins, swept down by the destructive tor- 
rent. As far as I could learn, the damage in the up- 
per part of the town, was confined principally to the 
fences, besides carrying off sundry wash-tubs, ash- 
buckets, horse-buckets, and other httle domestic ves- 
sels of a different shape and material, which are often 
seen basking in the sun along the sides of the brooky 
like Alligators in the swamps of Florida. 

In order to favor the administration of a specific 
against the effects of so much cold water, or a coun- 
tervail against rheumatisms, pleurisies, and internal 
congestions, a suspension of the Temperance Pledge 
took place, ^^ro. tern., and non- members, lay-member.*, 
and officers gulped down brandy, wine, gin, whiskey 
or cider, without scruple as to (juanii:y, or inquiry 
as to quality, and in most submis.sivt' obedience to 
the old rule ''de (/ustihus non est dispnta/iduni." 

To sum up and balance the whole. I believe that 
the flood was ratlier a benefit thai"! an ir.jury, for not- 
withstanding some individual los.'^c-. i; ckctiied all the 
pigsties, drowned all the rats and iof, *l.t's in the cel- 
lar kitchens and subtcirHneous wat«h-Louses and swept 
away the accumulaled tilth of foUy generations. : 
iSueh is the history of tlii.^ great llood. 

There has been a grcal number of weddings du- 



24 SETTLEMENT OF ACCOUNTS. 

ring the past winter. Some for comfort, some for 
convenience, a few for love, but none for money. 

I am not able to assign any local or general cause 
for this sudden ebullition of the uxorious passion. 
I would give you a list if possible in detail, of those 
successful candidates for matrimonial felicity, and ac- 
company it with copious and minute speculatory com- 
ments on the judicious or injudicious selections of the 
respecti-*. e novices in this most difficult, responsible 
and interminable undertaking; and would offer innu- 
merable suggestions and conjectures on the probable 
happiness or misery of the several hymenial copart- 
nerships; but de omnibus longum est dicere. 

The spring has now opened; the great season for 
setthng and collecting accounts. Money is out of the 
question. Settlements have to pass for payments, and 
due-bills for bank bills. The magistrate's dockets 
are crowded with judgements. • Tenements, horses, 
cattle and furniture pass under the merciless ham- 
mer of the sheriff. The broad rimmed beaver of a 
big-bellied methodist preacher does not produce great 
er dismay among the barn-yard fowls, than the low- 
crowned white hat of John Smith the constable, 
strikes into state offenders and delinquent debtors; 
alas, for the poor culprit before whom he takes it off; 
for all the evils of Pandora's Box are trifling annoy- 
ances when compared to the contents of this recepta- 
cle of legal terrors. Tossed by the slightest wind, 



AN OLD SOAKER. 25 

out Spring summonses, capiases, warrants, subpoen- 
as, and executions, big with the fearful terms of the 
voluminous law, with signs, seals, and superscrip- 
tions enough to frighten the most innocent consci- 
ence, or intimidate the most incorrigible miscreant. 
It seems hard, but it is the ultima ratio creditorum. 

The Temperance cause in this section of the coun- 
try is rather in a state of incipient dilapidation. New 
members are scarce, meetings rare, and thinly atten- 
ded. It is more than probable that the political ex- 
citement of the approaching campaign, will so effectu- 
ally absorb all others, and by the time of its conclu- 
sion the cold water association will be dissipated in 
the invisible intangible humidity of aqueous vapori- 
zation, as if it had undergone double elementary de- 
composition, and supervenient destructive distillation. 

We still have a good many drunkards, who seem 
to drink harder every day. The most extreme case 
of degradation which I see in our town is Bill Cull. 
He is so perfectly saturated with alcohol as to be al- 
most in a state of fluidity; and indeed it is a wonder 
to me that th<' s«>i\ nt power of the fluids does not 
overcome the ci.i w.v-A affinity and cohesive attrac- 
tion of the solids, and reduce him to a state of liquid- 
ity. He appears to be in a state of perfect incandes- 
cence, and looks as if he had sat upon a pile of red- 
hot charcoal, under the oxy -hydrogen blow-pipe for 
the last ten years. He seems to have ai-rived at the 



26 ABOUT DOGS. 

peiihelion of the orbit of drunkeness; and to tell 
whether he will make an other revolution around the 
alcoholic sun of his existence or fly off at a tangent 
into the regions of destruction is beyond the power of 
human divination. 

James still retains his remarkable predilection for 
the canine species. Last summer he had a dog which 
was worthless to a maximum, and was a standing 
source of annoyance to the whole neighborhood; he 
entered at all hours, without previous intimation of 
his approach, and retreated with the same degree of 
taciturnity, carrying with him whatever he could dis- 
cover in the shape of victualling material, not being 
particularly inquisitive whether it was sufficiently 
cooked to be of easy digestion. Luckily he was soon 
stolen, and the community was rid of his depreda- 
tions. 

This spring in order as far as possible to supply 
the loss of this valuable p^^rsonage, he has procured 
a little ragged, matted and woolly-haired apology 
I'oi- a dog, of a dirty white color, the fac simile of one 
of old Ftsrdky's chrishnas sheep, made out of a piece 
of clay, four slicks, and a handful of cotton. He is 
pt^rfectly harmless in all respects excepting his odor- 
iferous qtitilities, which render his proximity as ofTen- 
sive to the olfactory sensibilities, as the contamina- 
ted atmor.pbere of a menagerie. 

But the most important addition that we have to 
our family circle, is one of the double-flued, fuel-sa- 



A USEFUL STOVE. 27 

ving, self-heating, rarifying, revolving, electrical, at- 
mospherical Hathaway cooking-stoves. It is furnish- 
ed with nine sliding grates, a wash-kettle, twelve boi- 
lers twenty-six pair of doors, and seventeen grid- 
dles. 

There is a place in front to broil beef, toast bread, 
boil eggs, dry stockings and diapers, and brown coffee. 
Behind are two ovens and a blacksmith's shop, and 
nnderneath a place to warm bread, scald hogs, raise 
cabbage plants and hatch chickens. It occupies but 
little room, takes no wood, keeps the kitchen warm 
in winter and cool in summer, beautifies the com- 
plexion of the cook, burns the dog, minds the chil- 
dren besides keeping in motion a small engine to 
churn butter and rock the cradle. 

Tlie general routine of the medical practice in this 
section is the same as formerly, dark nights, muddy 
roads and long rides. Occasionally our whole house- 
hold is roused up at midnight by the knocking, kick- 
ing and hammering all round the house to the no lit- 
tle discomfiture of the dogs and disturbance of the 
neighbors, by m u]i ssengtr with an express of double 
quick haste, fti^ l'a doctor to go away over the rid- 
ges, some i\\\ii y tigijt or thirty miles into the unex- 
plored regions of the Malotts, Sipeses and Clevin- 
gers. 'Tis thui that we lee those relics of former 
ages, the imperishable, impermeatable, indestructi- 
ble great drab overcoats, with a i^tanding collar two 
jn.clifs thick, a hook and chain at the neck, a belt 



28 DESCRIPTION or AN OVERCOAT. 

round the middle, and shingled "with thirteen folds 
of capes, three feet long, and four inches to the wea- 
ther. These have descended as true heir-looms of 
antiquity, from father to son for at least sixty gener- 
ations, each succeeding link in the genealogical des- 
cent, giving them an additional coating of molasses, 
grease, apple-butter and dirt, until they have become 
impervious to rain, sleet, wind or snow, and all other 
kinds of weather; thundergusts, tornadoes and earth- 
quakes not excepted. To see one of the long-sided, 
holloAv-bellied, buckwheat-starved, seven-footers of 
the Brush Creek nation, buttoned and belted up to the 
throat in one of these wearless, tearless and fearless 
rnmparts of resistance, looks as ancient as one of the 
patriarchal shepherds of Judea, as colossal as the 
statue of Jupiter Ammon in the Lybian desert, and 
presents a perfect consolidation of impregnability. 

The next item which conies under notice is the lib- 
eral spirit of inquiry and the free circulation of ru- 
mors by which our intelligence is characterized. We 
have an intellectual ubiquitary sagacity of discovery, 
lor with incredible quickness the most private trans- 
actions become matters for common and public spec- 
ulation. We pry into account books, ascertain indi- 
vidual liabihiios, and note down correctly the dates 
of marriage contracts, to avoid unpleasant mistakes 
in the calculation of ^ubseqtient events. Among us 
it is useless to borrow plates, glasses or chairs for an 
evening party ; for we are well acquainted with 
their price, quality, nativity and all other circum- 



VILLAGE AcDTi:M->fl. 



stances comiected wuh their poi^session. 'TIj? folly to 
color old gowns into new ones; for wp an- as well ac- 
quainted with their patelies, rents, and seams, as 
with the wrinkles in the faces of our a«^ed grand- 
mothers. 

We are so acute in our observation, that a pair of 
striped pantaloons soon become identical with the 
owner, and in vain are they brought forth for new, 
after three or four years retiracy in an old chest with 
tobacco leaves. We know them immediately; and 
there is not an individual among us from the child to 
the dotard who would not recognize them as an old 
acquaintance; whether in the crowded streets of Lon- 
don, on the banks of the river Nile, or hanging 
wrong side out on a tree-top in Robinson Crusoe's 
Island. 

There was more than the usual travelling through 
here during the winter. But since the other chan- 
nels of communication are open, there are rare inter- 
upiions to the quiet monotony of our peaceful pla- 
cidity. The children make play-houses and the 
whip-poor-wills build nests in the streets. The sight 
of a travelling equipage produces quite a sensation. 
Chambermaids stick their heads out of windows, ma- 
trons run to the doors, and dirty-faced children into 
the houses. Hogs start up with a grunt, geese hiss 
at the horses, dogs bark at the wheels, and ducks, 
chickens and turkeys run under the porches. 

In am here compelled by a very unpleasant defi- 



.10 DEFICiEN-rv TN fllE c^tAN'fUM TEWPORIS, 

ciciu'v in tlif qv.antum tertrporis, 1o draw tliLs lictero- 
gt'iuH.'Us jux a position oC (iissiniilar parnyrn])]iical 
I'uiuexLs to a conclusion. 1 would gladly give you an 
in{ere>l;ing account of our little domestic peculiari- 
ties. How the children romp, how the baby cries, 
and how rarely we get dinner on washing-days. 
IIow cross the women are on Saturdays; and how 
pious on Sundays. What glorious recreations we 
liave cleaning stove-pipes, digging potatoes and sha- 
king carpets, but I must deny myself the exquisite 
gratification of treating these subjects for the pres- 
ent: for besides the uro^encies of' nesfocial transac- 
tions, I am subjected to the pressing necessity of 
weather-boarding the posterior projectional convexi- 
ties of two pair of old pantaloons, of retailing the 
nether extremity of a veteran shirt, and sewing new- 
heels on to about twenty pair of old stockings. 

Adieu my dear brothers, may you never have to 
go without your breakfast and have sourkrout for 
dinner, and mush and milk for supper, is the earn- 
est, uppermost wish Qf your affectionate brother. 

JOHN. 

P. S. Some time since I was invited to an evening 
party where I passed a very pleasant time, parta- 
king freely of the abundance of good things custom- 
ary on such occasions. 

The entertainment was honored with the sacred 
and august presence of three ministers of the gospel, 
one of whom asked a very eloquent blessing upon 



THE OH'TTOnVs DHT^AM. 13] 

the savory viands, wliicli p)-()])n])lv eau^c-.l nic to iii- 
du]'^e mui-e freely l]\■,^n 1 t)ll.er\visr >li(.>ul'J havr 
done. Willi a cari-ioiJ (»i"somc ten ov Iwdve cuui- 
ses in my digestive; bread basket at a very late hum-, 
1 rolled into bed, but, instead uf sleeping, was enga- 
ged most of the night in combatting with the fearful 
phantoms of the following horrible dream, which on 
the next day I ground out in the following parody. 



2[l)e ©liitton'5 JDremn. 



My thoughts on awful subjects roll, 
On cakes and pies and bread, 

What horrors seize the glutton's soul, 
Whilst lying in his bed. 

There with his stomach crowded full. 

In torments he must lay. 
Ten thousand devils seem to pull 

Him each a different way. 

Each swallowed oyster seems to take 
The form of some damned ghost, 

And then he dreams that he's a steak, 
Stuck m Hell's fire to roast. 

With glaring eyes a turkey there, 

In red hot gravy rolls. 
And roasting pigs with burning legs. 

Walk through the fiery coals. 



32 THE CLl T'JMN's dream. 

All round he sees a dreary wall, 
Of scorched and blackened toast, 

And boiling lobsters o'er him crawl, 
A seething writhing host. 

In Hell's hot smok}'- kitchen there, 

Forever he must stay! 
The breakfast bell resounds through Hell, 

He wakes, and lo! 'tis day. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 

I\iimber Four. 

The Post Office — Blundering P. 0. Seekers — 
Public Improvements— Chaos — Horticulture — 
Potato Speculation — Syrup of Grapes — Berks 
County White Pudding — Mince Pies — Econom- 
ical Cranberry Tarts — Fat Bacon for Break- 
fast SCABBIES InFERNALS HoW TO LEARN GER- 
MAN — The Criminal — The Verdict. 

M' Connelhhurgy 1846. 

Brothers — A and E 

I have for some months 
past purposed giving you a short epistk this sum- 
mer; as I have one whole rainy Sunday before me, I 
will venture once more to give you a few leaves of 
my note book, as copiously written out as words can 
be piled upon one another to obscure ideas. 

You will certainly not enjoin it upon me to go back 
two or three years and bring up the history of M'Con- 
nellsburg, for the various threads of detail, have be- 



:U 



<'<ini(' so in^ !\V(!\i'iK twisted, and broken, that, for 
any one peri>oii, tlie labor would be impossible to 
perfoini. Fragments, observations, and speculations, 
are all you must expect, and if you can combine tliem 
so as to make a congruous whole, you are welcome 
to all the credit of such an ingenious performance. 

'I'he most important change Avhich has taken place 
in the internal affairs of the town, is the removal of 
the Post Office; which happened last April. This 
honorable and profitable incumbency fell into .the 
hands of J. 0. Fetter. I believe there was no gen- 
eral mark of dissatisfaction at this succession, busi- 
ness men were satisfied if their business was done 
correctly, and said nothing, but those who sent an 
occasional letter or paper, and whose postage would 
amount to twenty-five cents a year, expressed con- 
siderable disapprobation, and those who had no bus- 
iness at all, and for whom the office might as well be 
in Hindoostan, grumbled like four ounces of Castor 
Oil, swallow'ed down on the top of a quart of chest- 
nuts and a dozen of rambow apples. But these' mur- 
murings soon settled into a kind of chronic submis- 
sion, and at the present time there is no opposition 
manifested. 

The office was at first kept in the room which nig- 
ger Spuggs formerly occupied as a barber shop, the 
entrance to which, you will recollect is about half 
>vay down the alley. The people of the town were 
soon all actiuaintcd with it^ whereabouts;, but it took 



the Country folks hoihv fO\Mi'u'u rnhlv Krg li of lijiic to 
discover its retreat. Some of them, in search of it 
"would come into the store, some tlirougii the entry 
east of the store, some into Forbes' slioe shop, others 
into Mrs. Needum's milhnery estabhshment; and one 
fellow had such astonishing per^everRnce to blunder 
away round into our kitchen and ask if there was sny 
letters for Ambrosier Woodlump, at the lower end 
of Pigeon Cove. The resident powers of the kitchen 
were so exasperated at his unparralled stupidity, as 
to be almost on the point of making him feel sensible 
of his mistake by demonstrations performed with the 
broomstick, rolling-pin, gridiron or some other dire- 
ful instrument of kitchen warfare; but as he had suf- 
ficient sagacity to make good his retreat without loss 
of time, he was suffered to depart through nothing 
worse than a thunder-gust of eye-brows. He backed 
out through the yard; but not without looking two or 
three times under the bake-oven, strongly suspecting 
that the office was kept in the basement story. But 
these difficulties now no longer exist; for, a short 
time ago the office was moved into the front room, " 
where five feet square boarded up in one corner, with 
a door in the end, a square hole in front, and strips 
up to the ceiling like a chicken-coop, incarcerates the 
governmental documentary pigeon boxes; and as long 
as the worthy incumbent can squeeze himself into 
these narrow confines, we have conclusive evidence 
that he has not fattened on the spoils of ofiice. 



oC MiUtc IMPIiOVKMKStS. 

Tlic only fiuljllc unprovcmeiit that has Ijeeti inadc 
f;>r niatiy yc-di's, is the tilling up and turn-piking of 
tlie streut leading to the Brick Church. This was 
performed about one year ago. A tax was laid on 
the borouixh with tlie liberty of workinfjf it out eitlier 
per se, or by substitute. All the carts, wheelbar- 
rows, mattocks, shovels, spades and grubbing-hoes in 
town were put in active service: all the dirt, stones, 
shavings, and tan that could be raked and scraped, 
were hauled up and deposited in the gutters, in the 
best possible situation to be washed down into the 
run by the first rain. The rattling and cracking of 
stone-hammers could be heard for miles. The rum- 
bling of carts, and the trampling of horses, made a 
din equal to the roar of drays which is heard upon 
the wharves of the Atlantic sea ports. The work was 
pushed with most astonishing vigor, nor need this 
seem strange, when you are told that the number of 
those who had nothing to do but to see matters go on 
right, w^as twelve supervisors, eighteen superinten- 
dants, nine overseers, six street commissioners, and 
three high constables; besides the burgess, the town 
council and twelve superanuated citizens. A few 
more might have been brought into service, but these 
were considered sufficient to command a force of one 
Frenchman, four Dutchmen, five apprentice boys and 
two niggers. , 

The improvement has added considerably to the 
appearance of this street, but in other respects, the 



ciuo^. ST 

town still retains its ancient appearance, Main street 
is beautifully diversified with store boxes and vrood 
piles. Greatbead occupies the north end of Pipe 
street with bis board -yard. I believe be has so shut 
it up that it is not navigable for any craft larger than 
a wheel-barrow; and the south end, up by Mr. Key- 
ser's, contains a most formidable chaotic labyrinth of 
ploughs, wagons, wood-ladders, hay-ladders, wagon - 
beds, &c. «fec. through which it requires most skilful 
piloting to steer without running a plough-handle in- 
to your side, a w^agon tongue into your stomach, or 
stumbling over a pile of stone into a puddle of dirty 
water, knocking your back-bone into a most ex^^ruci- 
ating zigzag, your hat at the same time not 5nly fly- 
ing oti your head, but flying perhaps a good ways on 
a- head, and out of pui-e sympathy for the rest of your 
clothing, falling into a pool of tlu- s^me admirable 
composition. Mr. Keyser seriously incommoded with 
this nuisance, complained to tho council, they grum- 
bled at the mayor, he ordered th.e constable, and the 
constable swore at the oflenders, who poured back 
upon him a volley of patented three-forked maledic- 
tions, lately imported from the dens of the English 
Metropolis, with sundry alterations and additions to 
suit time and circumstances; contending that if all 
other streets were not cleared of e\ery thing bigger 
than a bncV-bat, the obstacles should remain 'til the 
univel-sal conflagration. They tinnlly oulswore tlje 
constable, a feat of such diflicult performance, that 



55 HORTICULTURE. 

they richly deserved the victor}^ that gave them the 
predominance. 

The spirit of improvement has manifested itself 
somewhat, in the shape of private enterprize. A few 
liouses have been built — several stables, a;id two or 
three hundred yards of white-washed fences, made 
with twelve, feet boards set on their ends, with sharp- 
pointed nails on the top to keep the hatless, shoeless, 
ragged, sandy-haired, dirty-fisted, young rascallions 
from devouring every thing edible; from an apricot 
to a cabbage-stalk; cutting off pumpkin vines to make 
blowing-horns, and carrying away pocketsful of ripe 
tomatoes, to bespatter front doors, window -shutters, 
and sigits. 

The art of horticulture flourishes most luxuriantly 
in our place. Among others, our garden has been 
enriched and adorned with a lol'ty frame and lattice 
work, intended as a support for the europeau-isabel- 
la-regina-supersacarine-raellitiuous grape. But rea- 
soning from the appearance of the almost invisible 
shoots at the bottom of tliese gallows looking struc- 
tures, one would suppose that their grapes were inten- 
ded to sharpen the teeth of the thirteenth generation. 
Jn the way of fruit trees, we purchased Ifist year a 
number of sprouts from a nursery peddlar, which 
were to produce vaiidavers, rambows and green ap- 
ples, and the sky blue, thin-skinned, pulpy royal East 
India plums. One half of them never afterwards 
ohovked the least sign^ of litV, and the other part turn- 



POTATO SPECULATION. 39 

ed out to be rusty-coated, wrinkled, wilted, kind of a 
half crab-apple, the juice of which was too powerful- 
ly acidulous for anytliinj^- but eaiing out horses' hoofs, 
and sharpening case-hardened three-cornered files. 

To facilitate ingress and egress, the middle fence 
between our garden and Dickey's lot has been taken 
awRy, and the lot is annually planted with corn and 
potatoes. The last season was a little too dry for a 
good crop, but the year before we made the most ex- 
traordinary speculation in that way, that ever was 
made off a piece of ground of the same size. 

Having predetermined to put it in potatoes, we put 
on about twenty loads of manure, hired a man to 
plough and score it out, planted the best seed at the 
proper time, had the patch hilled, hoed, and weeded, 
kept one boy watching to keep out the hogs, and two 
more employed to dig out the cut-wunus. In the fall 
we hired John Harb and Old Bacliraan to Jig them 
up, and it took them just four days and a half, du- 
i^ng which time they demolished the but-end of a 
grist of flour, six hundred buck- wheat cakes, a quar- 
ter of veal, twelve yards of sausage, and three times 
as many potatoes as they raised; besides, a crock of 
apple-butter, and a jar of cucumber pickles. The 
crop when measured, amounted tq exactly seven 
bushels and three pecks, which according to the clo- 
sest calculation I was able to make, cost just two dol- 
lars and seventy-five cents a bii^^hel; additions to be 
made for Bachman's hquor and Harb's tobacco. ^ 



40 STBUP OF GRAPES—wrilTE PUDDING. 

It is now growing late in the fall, truly the fattest 
season of the year, and as this is a plentiful country 
and the old routine of domestic manipulations is still 
performed to the ne plus ultra of ancestral customs, 
you may rest assured that we live in most luxurious 
plenty. As usual in October, we put up four or five 
jars of the compound cathartic, wind-colic syrup of 
grapes, properly called gripes. This is made by strip- 
ping them off the stems, after which they are put in- 
to jars, filled up with Orleans molasses, simmered 
three days on the stove, put several times into a hot 
oven, and finally stand a week in the sun. At the 
end of this lime they are pretty well engaged in the 
vino-tartaric-acetous fermentation; when they are 
covered up well, put into the closet, there to remain 
until the sjiring of the year, then to be baked into tarts 
when nothing else of the pie kind is to be had; the only 
circumstances under which they are at all admis- 
sible. They are generally offered as an apology after 
a dinner of rusty bacon, watery potatoes and poke- 
leaf greens. 

The next article of luxury to be prepared, is the 
Berks County White Pudding; a kind of gastrodinal 
internal c^dhesive plaster, a mixture of tallow and 
fiour stuffed into the cleansed bowels of defunct swine 
fecasoned sufficiently to make it digestible i.i the 
bowels of all living swine, who may chose to indulge 
in such swinish diet. It is only of late years that it 
hsjt^ hi'ov Wi^f"^ ns~ i\^^ vjv*h-V of 'Mo*-, a-^. it was orio'inal- 



MTNCE PIFS ECONOMrCAL CRANBERRY TARTS. 41 

ly intended as an emmollient caiaplasm for suppura- 
ting scrofulous ulcers. The composition can only be 
eaten by those whose power of deglutition is strong 
f nough to overcome its cohesion to the roof of the 
mouth. The science of swallowing it is now taught 
under the head of Gulpology. Next in order come 
the mince pies; that ir. digestible compound of suet, 
pudding meat, raisins, hard pippin apples and sour 
cider, baked with a shortened crust for the benefit of 
digestion, and brandy enough put in to direct the uni- 
ted intluence of all the ingredients to the head; these 
are to be eaten only after people have eaten enough, 
and are generally administered in case of an over- 
charged stomacli, or just before going to bed, to avoid 
an attack of nighrniMre, disagreeable dreams or con- 
gestive lethargy. But I must not leave the subject 
of pies without giving you an excellent recipe for 
making the 

Err-\OMTCAL CRANBERRY TART. 

It is as fol! ,\; : Take 3 ft)^. fidur, 6 doz(^n eggs, 4 
pounds of f)(s!i butur; 12ft»\ wliite sug^.r, and a 
gallon and h hnlf of swt t-t ci> nm. These are to be 
well niixrd vvilli l.aii a pint of the berries; but should 
the acidity of the latter predominate ov.r the rest of 
the ingredients, sugar is to be added ad libitum until 
the lu'-te oi the berries is eilectuillv uisuuised. 



42 QRIASV TtifES. 

The butchering season now approaches with all its 
adipose concomitants. New hats and fine coats must 
now be laid aside for a few weeks, as all kinds of 
cookery are baked, boiled, stewed, fried and frittered 
in lard. Eveiy thing you take hold of is greasy. 
Broom handles, ladle han^^lles, and door handles, slip 
through your fingers like so many eels. The utmost 
circumspection is required in walking about the house 
during this period, for should you place the heel of 
your boot on a bacon skin or a handful of crackHngs, 
away you go, perhaps thumping, bumping and swear- 
ing down a steep fi^ight of steps, into a half subterra- 
neous cellar-kitchen or wasli-bouse, scarino- the rats, 
skinning your shins on the tdge of an ii'on kettle, or 
getting into a battle-royal with tlie soap-barrel. 

The pantries, cellars, and cupboards from this time 
on, increase in a geometiical i-atio of repletion, until 
the Christmas liolidays, which is the apex of the sea- 
son of good things, fat meats, and sweetmeats. The 
womens fingers and the child reus bellies, are never 
free from the pastry, and apples; nuts, candies, jellies 
and cakes follow each otlier in such quick succession 
down the juvenile gullets, as ^-ometimes to produce 
serious dit,tiu-bance below, not unfi'equenlly ending 
in vomitings, cramps and convulsions; but as the in- 
dulgent parents never suspect their dear children of 
gluttony, the whole matter is usually blamed on the 
worms. But I must leave this subject and give you 



FAT BACON FOR BREAKrAST. 43 

a few items from my brothers' diary. His notes are 
very brief and indislincily written, and as I have sto- 
len tlie folio 7.7-0 tern, I dare not ask him for any expla- 
nations, but I shall endeavor in course of time to give 
you the entire contents, text, context and appendix, 
with interlinear comments and marginal references; 
and perhaps I shall attach to the whole, a few engra- 
vings on sole-leather. 

I have a few items of his experience which with a 
little amplification, would make subject matter of the 
first qualit3^ At one place where he was attending a 
female patient, he sat down to a breakfast composed 
of fat bacon, two inches thick, swimming in melted 
lard, and a stack of dark serious-looking buck-wheat 
cakes baked foriy-eight houi's ante datum, surroun- 
ded by eighteen saucers of pickled beets and dried 
cherries. Tiiere was nobo.ly to partake of this sump- 
tuous fare but liim^elf. tin- sick v.^oman and a clay- 
colored ha'chet-faced, iitile girl twelve years of age 
with a misshapen head of sanny-colored, matted, 
frizzled, suspic'uMs looking liaii^ who performed the 
manifold cdii ,i. f iairy-maid, chamber-maid, butler, 
cook, sfevv ! I . waiter. 

In some |; >ii:- of iiu- coiin'ry, as soon as a person 
is coiiHned to k.iv b^.'s \\a\ pour into Inn* all sorts of 
sleamiiig an.d sweaUng infusions and decoctions of 
sassafras, spearmint, pipsisewa, sweet marjorum, 
.summer sa^•ory and wild tansy. If iie gets over all 
thio, Jiey l.dvc no Jifilculty in masttrii:g the disease; 



44 ' gCABBIES OiERNALlS. 

but if the pHiient coiiiinues to grow worse, as boou 
as he gets to be three -fourtlis of the time delirious, 
and the other fourth speechless, they send for a 
doctor. There is then a continual str^^am of neigh- 
bors and acquaintances ^ Mug to see him; but Sun- 
day is the grand climax of sympathy. The whole 
population of ten square miles is packed in a room 
of ten feet square, with children and dogs stuck in 
amongst their legs to squeeze the column into the 
perfection of density. Ten or twelve constantly sit- 
ting on the edge of the sick man's bed, and only six- 
teen asking him questions at a time. All these folks 
are to be stulfed with a dinner, the me half stay for 
supper, and thirty or forty stay a i night and take 
breakfast next morning. 

Before 1 leave this subject I must give you an ac- 
count of a most extraordinary kind of Scabbies Infer- 
nalis, or the hundred and seventy-seven years itch, 
which has taken its abode amongst the Malotts, Dy- 
denhoofs and Lingenfeltcrs. 

The particular instance of its infection which stands 
preen)inenily conspicuous, exists in the family of a 
lazy, lousy, greasy-looking fellow, who is none other 
than a son of the renowned and notorious dirty-but- 
ter Malott. 1 was ini'orn)t'd by one of his neighbors, 
th/it they have not waslied a rag in live years, aud 
have beee;me so filihy that the neigb.bors are afraid to 
go wiihin two railes of the house. The children run 
through the hazel bushes all day to scratch themsel- 



KO\Y To LEARX i.l.EM\S. -\ o 

v«'S. Miul (Nci-y nioriiini'- cf!rr\ oiH rlirf-r b;vsk<;fs fiiil 
of scabs, which jirc ikiw UiyinL( in piics annuid ihe 
house Hke buckwheat lii.:!l! around a llouring- mill. 

They have ust-d almost every medicine in tlie phnr- 
macopaeia without effect. It has resisted the combi- 
ned influence of Turpentine, Copperas, Charcoal, 
Red PrL'cipitate, Blue Vitriol,. Red Pepper, Aqua 
Fortis and Quicksilver. They have used several kegs 
of Drimstone and hogs lard, which now can be smel- 
led to the distance of twenty-five miles. So far liad 
the sulphureous vapors extended during the Indian 
summer of last fall, that the people some twenty 
miles off had serious; apprehensions of an earthquake; 
whilst in other parts of the country it was thought 
that there had been an unprecedented eruption of 
some volcanic mountain. There has been a consulta- 
tion of thirty physicians and sixty old women, and 
they have come to the conclusion that the house must 
be burned to the ground with all the personal effects 
of the inmates, and the children to be boiled for six 
weeks In a double distilled solution of vinegar, Span- 
ish flies, verdigris, quick-lime and hickory ashes. 

You will perceive by my last letter that I have 
made wonderful progress in the study of German. 
It is truly a most difUcult undertaking, but James 
and I bore away at it, and as we study the genuine 
philological forty-syllabled, high school Heidelberg 
dutch, we have to wind our way unassisted through 
all the gramatical intricacies and lexicographical syn- 



1() THE CKfMTXAL. 

opric;^] re -(^fi relies. Eich declension (jf nouns lias a 
nuiiiiiu linous infinity of trrn)inations, wiih two or 
ti.rfc live-columned p.^ges of <-xcep'iohs. The articles 
and pronouns are varied, spliced, split and splintered 
to convspond with all the numbers, persons, genders, 
divisions classes and cases, and it requires an almost 
superhuman efi'ort of the menior}' to keep in mind the 
fifiy-seven different inflexions of such words as her- 
uraschinderiireitzfluchtigen and verunterschellenblitz- 
inbocken. To fortify as well as to dutchify ourselves 
for the digestion of these etymological gall bursters, 
we dine three times a week on fried onions and sour- 
crout, sup on doughnuts, dutch cheese, smearkase 
and apple-butter, and take a dose of Zollicoffers blut- 
reinigen German pills every other morning. In ad- 
dition to this, as James is the elder professor, he 
smokes one of the real old pole-cat stinkeriftical dutch 
pipes with a china bowl, cap, hook and chain, three 
strings tof beads platted round it, and ornamented 
with a miniature painting of the city of Gottingen on 
one bide, and three country ale-houses on the other; 
wath the head of Saint Nicholas beautifully carved 
on the bulb. 

I must give you the last item of importance which 
has convulsed our usually quiet village. 

It appears that some weeks since, an individual was 
seen in a store during the temporary absence of tlie 
clerk, in suspicious proximity to the money drawer. 
The importciiit discovery was mitde by two nervous 



'i'HK \F!J!)K,T. 4/ 

old Avonien, wlm btnno- p!ac<i-- in fnnbvisli for th*- \'V- 
po-c, of course did not see less ih .n tl «.y (Xpc-cu-d. 
Owing to his. respcctaidc con^K^etiori.- it was d(om(d 
prudent to confijie the Lno-.vledge of it, to a few of 
their intimate acquaintance. These soon in:ip;iried it 
to their favorites, the circle gTadiudly widened. Mo- 
thers told it to daughters, they in their turn told it to 
the maids, and these like the hungry jackals of Ju- 
dea, being always ready to batten on the character 
and reputation of any poor devil w,ho may fall into 
their clutches, lost no time in communicating it to 
the whole sisterhood of the Philo Scandal suciety. It 
was simultaneously discussed in the parlor and the 
kitchen, over the magazine, the cradle, the dough 
chest and the wash tub; witn ah's and oh's, goodness 
gracious, tei rible, horrible, and a hundred other ex- 
pressions of virtuous indignation. 

A committee of twelve of the most glib-tongued 
spit-fire tattlers was appointed to circulate five hun- 
dred copies viva voce, with strict injunctions that the 
story mu^t lose nothing in the recital. This soon stir- 
red up the whole community so effectually, that there 
was a simultaneous convention of eighteen tea-parties 
and twenty-six quiltings; at each of which the accu- 
sed was tiied in due form, and as the probable inno- 
cence of the defendant was never for one moment 
thought of, of course no'council appeared in liis be- 
half. The several verdicts were accordingly render- 
ed, but as they are too voluminous I will give you 



4b BESiS F<»TZIN'v.'ER, 

h'ul imv, whicii b) the uay is iJie iniiiifHt and mmi 
mt i-ciful (if the wliolc hcitcl). 

The culprit was sentenced to solitary confinement 
tor tw<'nty years, siib:?i: tij^g on a diet of liorse-radish 
and indian turnip. To serve forty years exile in tlie 
brimstone quarries of Vrn Dieman's Land; and fin- 
ally to be sent over the iahs of Niagara, bunged up 
in a hogsliead of rattlesnakes. 

P. S. As usual I enclose you my last effusion in 
an ode to my lovely Bess, who is now on a visit to 
her great grandmother in Oliio. It will appear in 
the next number of the " Stillhouse Gazette, " which 
is now printed on the corner of Buzzard street and 
Goose alley, one door north of Gil martin's whiskey 
shop, and two doors south of Mrs. Leatherbottom's 
hog-pen, and directly in the rear of V^an Horn's ten- 
pin alley. 

©0 Be50 iot^iugcr. 

My dearest Bess, 

1 rather guess; 
'Twill make you stare and squint Bess, 

And feel asliamed 
To see your name 

Stuck up in public print, Bess. 

But Bess forgive, 

For as I live, 
I could'nt sleep in bed Bess, 

The thoughts of you 
Kept running through 

And through my troubled head, Bess. 



Tlicy sort'ly pi<-st 

Upon my Breast, 
And daily J. grew worse Bess, 

And should have died, 
Had 1 not tjied 

To get relivf hi verse Bess. 

For every day 

Since you're away. 
Beyond the Alleghany, 

I've dropt a tear 
For Betsy dear, 

Who lives in Pennsylvany. 

Oh how I mind 

I used to find, 
You ev'ry Sunday night, Bess; 

Completely clrest 
In Sunday's best, 

And braced up snug and tight, Bess. 

All through the night 

Till broad day-light. 
Broke up our happy meeting; 

The time we passed 
As it flew last, 

In courting and in eating. 

For through the day 

You stowed away. 
And sure twas very wise Bess; 

As sweet a cake 
As you could bake. 

And stacks of apple pies, Bes3. 



50 BESS F0T;?;iN0i:R. 

Ail'] as.wi' cnt 

Tiu'se daintit'S sweet. 
Ail.} yoiJi were nothing- loth, Bess; 

Oh wirat a bliss 
It wRs, ro kiss 

The ciuriibs from off your mouth, Bess. 

Tlifit mouth coul I show 

A pearly row, 
And wlien it < pened wide, Bess, 

Your laige fat cheeks. 
As red as beets. 

Stuck out on either side, Bess. 

A laughing fit. 

So widely split 
Your face, that I had fears, Bess, 

Your mouth might cease 
To keep the peace, 

And quarrel with your ears, Bess. 

Your forehead spread 

High on your head, 
And broader still than high, Bess; 

A pimple grew 
Of crimson hue, 

Just over your left eye, Bess. 

A tidy foot 

You carried, but 
Twas somewhat broad and flat, Bess; 

And right upon 
Each ancle bone. 

There .gi'ew a lump of fat, Bess. ^ 



DEAD S{1^)T KOa DAvMELoRS. 61 

And though 3 our waist 

By stays was braced, 
And corsets tightly bound, Bess; 

With both arms wide . 
I've often tried, 

But could'nt reach around, Bess. 

Dear" Bess, adieu, 

I'm very blue, 
And feel the swelling tear, Bess, 

In both my eyes, 
About the size 

Of half a pint of beer, Bess. 

As there is yet a half sheet of paper left, I will 
fill it up with a piece which I lately wrote for the 
" Sgttashtoivn Magazi7ie" Ediikid by Miss Sophronia 
Saphead. 



fecnir 0l)ot for Sarl)clor0. 



dark eyed maiden you've stolen my Leart, 
But this I would have you to learn miss, 

That I would'nt be pained wi.h this treasure to part, 
If I only had your's in returij mjss* 

One day whilst engaged as for years I have been, 

In pursuing rny daily vocation. 
On a matter of bus'ness you just happened in,^ 

And we held c|uite a siiort conversation. 



O-J I'KAli Sli.'jT FOR RACin-LOr<<%,. 

"VN\' ralkeii not of love, bat of mere common place, 
Such as ne'er could excite an emotion, 

Yet I had'nt gazed long on your bt. lutiful face, 
Ere I loved you wi.h ardent devotion. 

Witb anxious inquiry I asked where you dwelt. 
You gave me the name of the street, miss; 

And you cannot conceive what a pleasure I felt, 
For 1 knew that ere long we should meet, miss. 

I strove to detain you conversing awhile, 
Till you w.'uid'nt delay any more, miss, 

But with gentle adieu, and a heavenly smile, 
You gracefully moved to the door, miss. 

Through a mutual friend whom I always esteemed. 
Ere a week or ten days had passed o'er, miss, 

I met you again, and Oh heavens! you seemed 
More beautiful now than before, miss. 

What rapture I felt as I talked with you there, 
How 1 prayed it would last the whole day, miss, 

But Old father Time in despite of my prayer. 
Most relentlessly snatched you away, miss. 

When you passed from my sight, oh how my heart 
sank. 

My pleasure was turned into pain, miss; 
And life must for me be a desolate blank, 

Until 1 could see you again, miss. 

My books, which have hitherto been my delight, 
Unopened now lay in a pile, miss, 



SOFTENING OF THE BRAIN. 53 

In the bustle of day, in the stillness of night, 
I think but of you all the while, miss. 

For society too, I have lost all my taste, 
No more can I join in the laugh, miss. 

My jolly companions would tease me to death, 
If they only could know the one half, miss. 

S'o bew^are as to what I have written above, 
Keep dark! not a word must be said, miss — 

If the Bachelor's club should find out I'm in love, 
They'll pitch me out heels over head, miss. 



Immediately after finishing this piece, by some 
strajige coincidence I was taken with an alarming fit 
of vertigo. A physician was called, who, when he 
came found the piece lying on the bureau, picked it 
up and read it carefully through, and his scientifc 
but unpoetical diagnosis was, that tlie disease w^as 
*' Softening of the Brain," and innudiak'ly had my 
liead shaved and a bladdtr filled with ice drawn over 
it, and sundry other anti-])hlogislir trea'ment which 
almost extinguitshcd the hi«t spaik of poetic lire in my 
cranium. 



CORRESPOXDEIVCE. 
]\' umber Five. 

Conclave of Scandal — An Important Indtvidfal 
— Schools — Measles — Views from a Balcony — 
Old Davy Diblebiss — Arrival of Visitors — The 
Fashions of the Day — The Fourth of July — The 
Day after the Fourth — To Album Contributors 
— The Vision Slc. tfec. 

3/' Cvnnelhhxrg Oct. 6, 1848. 
Dear Cousin — 

You liave doiibUess expected long ere 
tliis M11 ansAvf'i- to your kind and humorous letter. I 
ackiiowledi;!' it it^ over due, but 1 am sorely at a loss 
for the pioi rr materials. 



OTHER PEOrLES BUSINESS. 55 

Having unfortunately my own business to attend 
to, I have but little time t>o devote to that of my 
neighbors; which 1 regret very much as judging from 
the few items which fall in my way, that it possesses 
much more interest than my own. Yet you must, not 
suppose me entirely ignorant of the little currents 
and eddies of village aflairs that are rippling around 
me Being a lone bachelor, T am not permitted to 
move in a very densely peopled social system. Nev- 
ertheless I am to some considerable extent informed 
as to the motions of the various planets and satellites 
of society; for there are amongst us as in every other 
enlightened community a large number of astrono- 
mers both male and female who make daily observa- 
tions of their neighbor's transactions with glasses 
equal in magnifying power to tha', of tl.e famous tel- 
escope of Hersclicl. 

They then philosophize and spccuhile on ll.eir ob- 
servations — make deductions — ciraw inf( r<'nces ard 
suppositions in every conceivable \i( \v of ihc -u! •](•.•(, 
and in short lea^ e nothing undone Avhicli can enlight- 
en the community, and make thtm thoroughly ac- 
quainted with each others private afi'airs; and for the 
more perfect and public advancement in this depart- 
ment of useful knowledge, there arc formed several 



h6 CONCLAVE OF SCANDAL. 

associations — principally female, wlio meet frequent- 
ly and regularly; and as they sit with closed do<^rs 
they make unreserved exchanges of news without 
regard to the feelings and interests of the unfortu- 
nate subjects of their communications. 

The kind of information which is considered pre- 
eminently valuable, is that of the financial affairs of 
lamilics, conuubial difficulties, improper marriages — 
lunaway matches and illegitimate births — both expost 
facto and prospective, and they endeavor to make 
their report in such a manner as to expose the most 
assailable points of all whose respectability might 
place them a degree higher than themselves in the 
social scale. 

The several members of the Conclave of Scandal 
immediately upon the receipt of an important item, 
report directly to their husbands, who being no less 
disposed to gossip than their wives — retail it with a 
still longer tale in stores, taverns' shoe shops, barber 
shops, stj-eet corners and eveiy other available place 
for an audienre, and as my place of business is a fre- 
(juent resort of a large number of those who have a 
surplus of time, of course I receive almost the entire 
current epitome, with the various comments and opin- 
ions of the audience, and not unfrequently a whole 



AN IMPORTANT INDIVIDUAL. 57 

string of parallel cases in elucidation of the subject, 
malvinir the whole affair as luminous as mud, and as 
consistent as eating soup with a pitchfork. 

I do not of course differ so much from my worthy- 
fellow citizens as not to be a patient and willing list- 
ener, consequently I am frequently filled to such re- 
pletion with curious and interesting facts, that my 
eyes fairly stick out with the plethora of information. 
I feel as if I was soaked — saturated, stuffed and bloa- 
ted with the accumulated filth of all the kitchens and 
nurseries of the village. 

You must not be astonished when I tell you that 
old inhabitants move awny nnd new ones oome in their 
places, some make money, others break up; aged per- 
sons die occasionally, wliilsL young ones are born 
daily. 

Yet with all these changes the Cove Mountain 
stands exactly wlicre it did forty years ago, and the 
sun continues to li^e daily t>V(r ii.s summit as cooly 
as it nothing had iuipp^'nc!; aucl f think will continue 
to do so until the do-A'\\ of the ri^ht honorable, ven- 
erable, voluble, blustei-iiig K:\;nael Doosenbeny, the 
most important and self-iini)ortant personage in our 
important little village, lie is gi-an I royal arch can- 
dle-stick holder of the Odd Fellows — president of the 



L>6 l-'RKE SCHOOL. 

supervisional committee of tl^.e K^'uns of Tt mp( I'ance, 
Vice President of the Calitluimpian Association, Sec- 
retary of the Benelicial Society, Chairman of the 
ToTvn Council, Overseer of the poor, Coroner, Street 
Commissioner, Auc'joneer, Court Crier and Deputy 
Constable. He opens the Circuit court, closes the 
school house, cleans out the market house, lights up 
the church, winds tlie town clock, and rinos the dutch 
bell; besides being an lonoiarv ni( mb i of the school 
directois, tire company and metl.odisi cliuich. I'oor 
Sam he considers himself the main-s] riivg and legu- 
laior of the village, and liiml) billcAcs that his ab- 
sence or death would give iim- to ;mi in>urrection. 

The most important matters i i w in j rogress here 
aie the Fiie School, (u o- 1 a|:l,ical bchool, Music 
Scliool and liu- n casks. 1 l-c lite school is crowded 
A\ith all sizi s ami colors oj gj-casy-sleeved candle-no- 
sed; bni».n;-l,i :.ued, sliiri-laiiouicd juveniles from the 
weed sriidkiiig juul swcaiing ap] I'c ntice boy of eight- 
een, down !o ihe leiidu' iiille dia] cied urinating in- 
1 ocent of tin nmsei}'. Tlie teaclier is incarcerated in 
the 8 by i:; log school house on the south-east corner 
of Jimmy McCaidy's potato patch, with an ungover- 
nable mob of seventy-five scholars one half the time 
occupied in keeping the older ones from eating apples 



MUSIC SCHOOL. 59 

and fighting, and the other half in keeping the young- 
er ones from crying and freezing. He gets twenty -five 
dollars a month, two shirts from the Ethiopian Sew- 
ing Society, boards round with the scholars and takes 
bed-bugs and pot-luck. 

The geography school is carried on by a long-hair- 
ed, hump-backed, hollow-bellied, sunken-eyed pill- 
garlick, billious-looking itinerant lecturer, who pro- 
fesses to teach tlie geography of the whole world in 
two weeks, by a course of six sugar-coated lessons. 
But 1 ft-ar he will not be able to fulfil his piomise, as 
one half his scholars don't know whether oranges 
grow in Patagcnia or Kjuiscail a, and the other half 
dont kno^\ an isil n us i'lom a lii] popotamus. 

The music school is ij.iLc r a select concern, and is 
confined to tl e smooth -freed collar-choked verdant 
male embryos of Mir,<teen, will, tie dear intei'esting, 
blushing modest li'k- damsels of iiicipient puberty. 
No boys allow< d < utside, nov sjMctators admitted in- 
side. As most of the lent'ir maidens are of a sensi- 
tive, pensive, plainiiA^ , sympatl ( Lie, lach]}mose, di- 
uretic and melanchuly turn, ihcir Uaclicr has select- 
ed pieces peculiarly adapted to jtisuis of this tender 
temperament. 

1 have procured a list of their pieces from one of 



60 CHOICE MUSIC. 

the scholars, and It runs as follows:— The Mekn^ 
choly Student— The Ragged Wanderer— The Blind 
Schoolmaster — The Crippled Soldier — The Crazy 
Sailor — The ]^amc Beggar— The Lousy Nigger^* 
The Tearful Bumblebee—The Blubbering School 
Miss — The Mewing Kitten — The Sick Lap-dog — The 
Lost Canary Bird — The Dying Butterfly and Gran- 
ny Mc Lanes Lament. 

As his scholars are very industrious and enthusias- 
tic and find it impossible to refrain from practicing on 
Sunday, the thoughtful teacher has selected fur this 
purpose, a list of pieces -which are supposed by the 
best judges to be so free fr(»m any ihing of a worldly 
nature as to suit the most lu-iihrious bkillet-headed 
disciple of dce])-blue orthodoxy. 

Thty are as follows; The Consumptive's Melody — 
The Gr«ve-YMid Serenade — The Tombstone Strath- 
spey — The Si^elcton Jig — Tiie Sepulchral March — 
The Scorching Sinners' Hornpipe — The Coffin Over- 
ture — The Brimstone Waltz — The Fiery Polka — 
• Wail of the Damned, and Grand Chorus of the Rus- 
ty Hinges of Hades. 

The class is making good progress and have be- 
come so proficient that they are soon to give a grand 



concert (or tlie benefit of llie "llt'aLl.i'ii S(;\viiig- Soci^ 
ety;" the money to be applied for tlie pnroJiase of 
rockino'-borses for tlie nj-'uer babies ill Cittaytlta^ 
line. 

In I'egai'd to tbe measles tbeii* nature is directly 
opposite that of tbe milsic society, being by no means 
select in their company. No class of the community 
can complain of being slighted by them, as they visit 
alike the overfed sugar-fisted, cranberry -tarted, hot- 
bed puppets of the rich, and half-starved, half-naked, 
goggle-eyed, cadaverous offspring of squallid subur- 
ban niggers. 

The disease has as yet manifested itself only in a 
mild form, so that the physicians have less to do with 
it than the old women, who manage it chiefly by^ 
keeping the children in and driving the measles out, 
their remedies consisting chiefly of honey and butter 
stews, onion poultices, sheep saffron tea, goose grease 
and chamber-lye embrocations. 

This summer we took a notion to have an addition- 
al story put on our house. To save time we had six 
brick-layers and ten carpenters at once, who soon 
made the old roof and gables ** vanish like the base- 
less fabric of a vision" leaving nothing but old plas- 



V,'2 AIIW.- KHdM A TiAl.CONY. 

t( r und btickhals beliind, whicli were soon cleared 
away, and two Hew rooms wiUi a balcon}' erected on 
tlieir site. How we ever got along without this bal- 
cony is a mystery, as it is such a capital place to 
lounge in hot weather — to air beds in dry weather, 
and dry clothes in wet weather; moreover, it com- 
mands a beautiful view of the garden^ the smolce- 
house, stable, and other out-buildings, taking in the 
whole of Hog-street and* Poverty-alley, across old 
Mrs. Smith's sheep-pen, Kritchbaum's turnip patch, 
and terminates far down in the distant windings of 
Mud-lane. 

We had a busy time during the building, of it. 
Such a number of mouths to feed as kept the women 
on their stumps earl}^ and late. The dough-chest and 
bread-baskets always filled with the kneodful, and 
the cooking-stove and the housemaids face in a state 
of continual torrefaction. 

Barrels of flour melted down like snow, and quar- 
ters of beef disappeared like mists before the morn- 
ing sun; whilst the coffee-pot spouted daily, before 
the multitude, an inexhaustible stream of encourage- 
ment, and the tea-kettle sang gaily its melodious 
strains, sending its vapors in voluminous clouds, 
far over the heads of the busy circle, mingling with 



tlie g-r:iU'rul sa>(ir, wiiifli s!»;in^((l up fioni llie smo- 
king viands below. The kilcl.cn cMbuRa liccaoK; Uie 
seat of ii'oveniment — the vital oroan of domestic econ- 
omy. Tlie parlor lay deserted, daik and cold in si- 
lent neglect, and the front door closed against visitors, 
as tight as the gates of the ancient temple of Janus. 

The women formed themselves into a select com- 
mittee on supplies; James became superintendent of 
door-latches and window patcijiing, and I was duly 
appointed chairman of a committee of one on old stove 
pipes, my regalia consisting of a leather apron, two 
dirty towels, an old pair of buckskin gloves, a pair of 
blacksmith tongs, a hammer ajid a billet of wood. 

We had not the slightest interruption during the 
whole period, except once on a Saturday afternoon, 
when work appears to accumulate, instead of dimin- 
ishing; when children get noisy and unmanageable, 
women cross, and all hands heels over head in a 
whirlwind of hurry to get everything in order before 
the approaching sabbath. On such a day, the men 
were driving their work like so many steam engines. 
The hammers rattled on the roof; the trowels clinked 
on the chimneys, the masons yelled mort, and the 
tender rushed up stairs like a New York fireman with 
twice as much mud on his heels as he had in his hod, 



f)-t OT.li DAVY DTBTI.rvTSS. 

U avmg nu»st of it on tlie stairs as he wont up, and 
tramping- it out as lie came down, occasionally squirt- 
ing half a pint of tobacco juice over it, to keep it from 
staining the wood. 

One of the maids, rigged out in a dcshahille of old 
clothes, with her head tied up in a red cotton hand- 
kerchief, was blacking the stoves in the yard, and the 
other was washing, baking, scrubbing, cooking and 
scolding the children, who had all the doors open — 
four cages built in the corners of the sitting room, of 
tables and chairs, and were stirring up the enclosed 
animals into a most melodious uproar, with the shov- 
el, tongs, cornbroom tfec. 

Old Davy Dibilbiss had butchered a calf, and was 
walking to and fro from the kitchen to the wash- 
house—had all the tubs, basins, crocks and pitchers 
in the house filled with skins, livers, lis^hts, mit-fat and 
brains, and was calling for towels, knives, spoons, la- 
dles and spices — making as much noise, and giving 
every body as much trouble as he could. When lo! in 
the midst of all this, a carriage load of visitors drove 
up to the door. It consisted of one man, five over- 
dressed women, four noisy children, two servants, a 
siurse girl, six leather trunks, twelve band-boxes, 
iialf a cord of umbrellas, fans, parasols and carpet- 
sacks, two squalling babies and a spotted dog. All 



tlicst' witli thv i.'Ae( pliun of llw baiigHgc aliylit^d aJul. 
mad^ their way Utmbscrved through tin* hnll, ami 
liad penetrated as far as the kitelieu, whicli they were 
only prevented from entering by u high tide of sttds 
and hot water, in wliich slood one of tlie maids, 'Ml" 
kle-deep, with her dress tucked up in front, and slo- 
ped gradually down to a point behind, whieh bobbed 
playfully up and down into the fluid below, keeping 
most admirable time with the motions of the nymph, 
who swept to and'fro with a hickory broom, with all 
the force of a steam engine. 

At this point they stood in perfect dismay, and 
w^ere about forming themselves into a council to con- 
sult about beating a retreat, the youngest boy havings 
in the mean time lost his slippery footing, and tum- 
bled over into the surging element. He was jwst be- 
ing rescued from his perilous situation as the lady of 
the house entered, who immediately showed them in- 
to the sitting room, tore dow^n two or three of the an- 
imals' cages, and seated them as comfortably as could 
be done in a carpetless room bj a cold stove. They 
however, unlike most visitors of the kind, had too lit- 
tle brass, or too much discretion to remain; and soon 
withdrew to the inexpressible relief of the women,. 
who forthwith returned to their work, the animals to 
their cages, aud every thing went on again '*wi rat- 
lin glee." ■ 

/ 



HH FASIIK'NS- nv Tin: V).\Y. 

In (he course of hiininn r\<iits lioAVever nil tiling's 
\vc'i»; R'isiured tu order, and moved in Llieir wonted 
harmony. 

It is a useful and int«'res;iny arnusement to obsieive 
even in Lliis secluded and ohscure diniinuiive minia- 
ture village, ihe changes ot fashions, and in the hab-- 
its of the people. The female portion, 6f course, tal<iTig 
the lead in the introduction of all innovations^. Shoul- 
ders, which a few years back, could feel comfor- 
table under a plain and substantial calico chess, can- 
not now carry any thing heavier tban a spidei'-web, 
invisible, intangible italien lace, needle- woik cape of 
the real Neapolitan metropolitan manufactuiv. The 
heads have most disdainfully tossed off the maiden- 
like, or matron-like bonnet of by-gone simplici'y, nnd 
now erect themselves haughtily under a labyrinthical 
open work, honey-comb, plaited, tAvisted, intertwin- 
ed, inexplicable structure, securely hidden under a, 
varigated brush-heap of ribbons, rouche?. flowers, 
beads and tinsel. The cloak wdiich was tormeily 
made of six or eight yards of neat and plain materi- 
al, light enough to be carried without ditricully, b.as 
now given way to the European Eugenia line- twined, 
double-milled three-ply Circassian merino; must con- 
tain at least twenty-five square yards, finished with 
three bodies, and six capes, quilted in four thicknes- 
ses, and lined with anthi velvet. And for fear of an 



TIIK Fni-UTH (>:■ .IT'LV. .hi 

npp earn lire <>1' iconciiiv, the scair.s, (-(Mlar-t'dgcs, 
capes and skirts aie IVilled, tVizzK d and faivlanglt-d 
with moliair, camels liair, badgcis hair, yili buttons 
and gold edging. 

Kid gloves go hand in hand with tju'se extrava- 
gances, and silk stockings, and satin shoes follow in 
the footsteps of their woolen and calf-skin piedeces^ 
sors. 

Thus does the present generation dissipate in a few 
months, the hard earned savings of many laborious 
years of the frugal and industrious parents- 
Many an old and cherished homestead passes away 
under the hammer of the sheriff; but this is a small 
evil compared with the mortification of living out of 
the fashion, or within their means. 

The summer has now entirely passed away, and 
nothing of note has occurred during the whole sea- 
son with one single exception, which you may well 
suppose was the 4th of July. 

On this occasion there was a grand Christian As- 
sociation and Sabbath School union celebration. The 
children of the several denominations were convened 
at their respective churches, then formed in proces- 
sion and marched out to the beautiful low-land grove 
south-east of the village, generally known as the 
Widow Holstein's Bottom, where they partook of a 
sumptuous dinner under the sylvan shade. The chil- 



68 t)AV AriLU I'llL tcrUTH. 

dri'ii of I'uuist? canif fiisl in tlie oider of tlie cutcr- 
luilUnient) and to this tiny did ample justice, tlie more . 
t'!s})efi'dny) as tbey were overlooked Hiid encouraged 
by un linniense'reserve corps of hungry and admiring 
unini-sters, elders managers, superintendents, teacli- 
t-rs, colporteurs, tract agents and other })ious stran- 
gers and itinerant missionaiy exhurters, who looked 
on with most devout thankfulness and heartfelt satis- 
lacliun, to see how the dear little gluttons did eat. 

After the usual reading of the Declaration, sundry 
orations, juvenile exhortations, temperance speeches, 
cold water songs, prayers and a benediction, the fes- 
tivities of the day ended; all returned to th.eir homes 
and nothing farther was heard until next moining, 
when Mr. Chamberlain Potts, Secretary of the In- 
terior, reported twelve cases of indigestion, fourteen 
cases of cholera morbus, eighteen cases of griping 
diarrhea, and tw'enty-five cases of cholera infantum; 
besides a large number of sick head acl.es uiid dry 
belly aches, not taken into the account, 

P. S. Some time ago a young lady presented me 
her album, requesting me to write a })ieee in it. 
l^pon examination I found it half tilled with selected 
and stolen pieces, which her contiibutors had pre- 
sented for lack of brains, to compose something them- 
selves. So in order to give them a gentle reproof 



TO ALBUM CONTRXBUIOR*. 69 

and prevent the further introduction of such pieces, 
I inserted the following lines, which I hope may 
prove edifying and instructive to those literary pick- 
pockets, and pretensions dough -heads who do not ap- 
pear to know an album from a scrap-book. 

Co Alburn Contributor©. 



There are poets of wisdom, and poets of wit. 
And poets who write the bombastic, 

And small po-tatoes, who struggle to get 
Up something a little sarcastic. 

Some beautiful verses they oi'ten indite. 
From the writings of others selected, 

Then bribe some smart little schoolboy, to writ« 
Them in letters well penued and corrected. 

They have but a small stock of geniu.s themselves, 
And whenever they wi.«^ii to clap iire on. 

They've but to reach up to their library shelve.'^:, 
And take down a copy of By run. 



70 TO ALBUM CONTRIBUTORS. 

When they wish to write wisdom, they copy from 
Young, 

With Milton's sublime too, they fill us, 
And seek for their love-sickly ditties, among 

The writings of Moore, or of Willis. 

As for writing original verses they can^t. 
And they often ieel puzzled and queer, 

For whenever the books are away that they want, 
They must copy from those that are near. 



3:i)e ibision. 



Written fob the Watertown Refrigerator. 

A TEMPERANCE MOKTHLY. 

** I had a dream, whicli was not all a dream,'* 

And why not all a dream, seems very queer, 
But when explainer!, does not so puzzling seem- 
One hail was dream, the balance lager beer. 

1. 

I once had a dream, a dream of the past. 
And mingled with dark foreboding, 

It left an impression which seemed to last, 
Deep into my mind corroding. 



Bxit time rolled over and wore it away, 
Till at last it had faded and vanished, 

And again I was happy and cheerful and gay, 
For I thou<:?ht it forever ^\a? banished. 



72 THE V19IOK. 



3. 



But a night of late, as I sat in my chair, 
Till the candle grew low and dim, 

Before me there seemed a gaunt spectre there. 
With a countenance ghastly and grim. 

4. 

And dimly behind him a female stood, 

Like a mist transparently thin, 
'Twas not like a being of flesh and blood, 

But something which once had been. 

5. 

But slowly it grew more vivid and bright, 
Till its waxen features grew plain; 

I gazed on those features, and such a sight. 
Distorted with sorrow and pain. 

Between us the spectre fetill seemed to stand, 

Not a marble feature did stir, 
But he slowly raised his skeleton hand, 

And pointed it calmly at her. 



THK VISIOH. 7S 

7. 

A gloomy shadow hung over her head. 

And in it were painfully bright 
Words, which I almost trembled to read=— 

Words which I dare not write. 



The spectre*s face seemed troubled the while. 

As if some ^ark secret he knew. 
Then he looked at me "with'a ghastly smile, 

Saying — mortal, thy dream was true. 

9. 

Dost thou know that I hold at my command, 

The records of by-gone sin — 
The keys oLthe future are here in ray hand, 

Wilt thou venture to look within. 

10. 

I would not, I could not, I darted not to look, 
Though 1 am not ili<- en aruic of fear, 

But I shuddered riiid shrHuk ns the spectre spoke, 
"You drink too much Irtuer beer." 



EPITAPH 

ON 

DOUGENSBREAD FORBESS. 



Here slumber the relics of Old Dougensbread, 

The quizzical comical Forbess; 
Who lived liil the hair was all grey ^n his head, 

Then died vvith the cholera morbus. 



LETTER TO SAM. 



M'Ccm)}elhhvrg. April, 1849. 

Dear Sam. — -T must bfg a thousand pardons for 
delaying so long, to anf^wer your last epistle, and per- 
haps my indolence would even now predominate over 
the desire to write, had not sonjething lately occurred 
which has stirred tip my sluggi.sh nature into an un- 
usual state of acii"^i:y; and as it may prove instruc- 
tive to you, I will endeavor to give it to you as much 
in detail as the space o! a few sheets will admit. 

Trifling as it may appear, it may be of va:-t impor- 
tance to you, for as you are yet a single gentleman, 
you may sooner or later find yourself in a similar pre- 
dicament. 



76 THE WIDOW JONKS. 



In the early part of last summer, a beautiful and 
interesting young lady came to make a visit of some 
months with her relatives in our village. Through 
them I made her acquaintance; and as she combined 
intelligence with beauty, I of course soon became 
deeply enamored, and ere long had reason to believe 
that my unremitting attentions had produced the de- 
sired eflect. At all events, we became very informal 
and intimate; but time rolled on, her visit ( nded, and 
she left for her home, in the north-t astern part of 
the state. 

We of course corresponded, and she being of a pi- 
ous turn of mind, and withal a warm advocate of cold 
water principles, sent me from time to time, numer- 
ous reliiiious journals, and t( mpi^rnnce documents; 
buch as iht'^Nt w York Evani^^list, Zion's Herald, 
The Puritan B]u( light. The h^inners Guillotine, The 
Diunkards Shower Bath, The Watevtown Refriger- 
^itor i\ic.. !o T\l it'h I responded by emending her The 
I iiitarian Recorder, Universalists' Text Book, and 
(.her pa];ers ot a libtra! tendency. I read her papers 
e.'iretuliy, and tiled them away as sacred souvenirs; 
but her trt ;'!n)ent of mine was f;ir different; for I re- 
ceived a i.iiei-. in which she ironically returned her 
sincere t}ianK> }<r the documents I had been kind 
enough tu <(nd her, stating at the same time, that she 



THK WIDOW Jo.VKt. 



had not fell sufficicnl interest to examine their con- 
tents, and had accordingly handed them to a very cu- 
rious old lady, whom she facetiously styled the Wid- 
ow Jones, who lived in a very small cottage in the 
extreme corner of their garden, almost hidden a- 
raongst the trees, and surrounding shrubbery. Sta- 
ting, that as the old lad}'' had no rising family, and 
had never been very choice in the selection of her lit- 
erature, she presumed that no great harm would be 
done by the contaminating influence of my docu- 
ments. This was the smoothest and keenest sarcasm 
I had ever met with, and I of course smelt a rat, or 
something of a similar odor. I was highly indignant, 
and hasted to inform her by note, to tell Mrs. Jones, 
that I ha;d discontinued her papers. 

I found that the balance of trade was yet against 
me, and in order, as much as possible, to make up 
the deficiency, I wrote her the following piece, which 
of course ended the correspondence. 



^l)t Uliboiu Iouc0, 



Oh dont you remember the garden my t!ear, 
And its beautiful shrubbery too — 

The Widow's small cot, in a green shady spot. 
So snugly shut out from the view. 



There is an old Widow they call Mrs. Jones, 

And a clever old lady is she, 
Who lives in a neat little house which she owns, 

Right under the Old Apple tree 



'Tis a neat littb' house, with seats all around, 

Most luxurious seats it is .said, ■" 
But even in winter, has never been found 

To contain e'er a stove or a bed. 

*Tis a cottage in form, with roof like a shed. 
The rooms all upon the ground tloor— 

One circular window, right over your head. 
While passing in through the front door. 

A very deep cellar there is down below, 
Which contains — so at least we are told. 

By those who have made it their business to know, 
— No raatter^—they ssy it's not gold. 

The sweet briar vines all over its wall, 
And the house is surrounded with roses, 

Yet, the odorous zephyrs, which float through its 
hall, 
Are too pungent for delicate noses^ 

Mrs. Jones' as quite a resort, is well known. 

She receives many calls ev'iy day- 
It i« pleasant indeed, as all her friends own, 
To drop in and make a short stay. 



so IH>. WIDOW JONEB, 



Sh*^ ia visiied tl>»re by the fairest of fair, 
In llicir silks and their satins and shawls, 

Her house is ne'er missed, 'tis first on the list, * 
When they're making their morning calls. 

Her dwelling is free to every degree, 

Without any charges to pay, 
Yet even the poor, when they enter her door 

Leave a trifle before they go way. 

The high and the low, the old and the young, 

She welcomes alike ev'ry guest, 
There they sit at their ease, juyt as long as they 
please; 

No matter how shabbily drest. 

A prudent old lady she is, for she knows 
So much that she never expresses, 

Of ragged and tattered and shabby old clothes. 
Hanging down under beautiful dresses. 

Oh ! many a tale could the widow unfold, 
At which the young dandies would wonder. 

How many fine velvets, all hanging with gold. 
Have dirt)' old petticoats'under. 



THE WIDOW ,TOKF,^ . SI 



The Widow's is quite a good place too; to road' 
For 'tis one of her curious capers, 

Ko matter what politicks, party or creed, 
She must take all the regular papers. 

The dailies, and weeklies, besides if 'tis true, 
It is wicked, outrageous, prodigious, 

They say she takes infidel documents too, 
Though tlie most of her friends are religious. 



But what is most strange, she is pleased just as mucli, 

And fully as eagerly catches 
Old temperance almanacks printed in dutch, 

As she does at the latest dispatches. 

Such a book-worm itideed the old lady was born, 
That she suffers no sheet to escape her. 

No matter how rumpled or dirty or torn. 
And she even has piles of brown paper. 

Of love letters too, she has a good store. 
For sweethearts go there to peruse them, 

Then leave them on file after reading them o'er. 
That the gentle old Widow may use them. 



Here these letters are sure tu be fuJly secure, 
For ev'ry young school miss well knows it, 

The WicTow can keep, most skil] fully deep, 
A secret and never expose it. 

Long live the old Widow, and peaceful her end, 
For their visit, no matter how speedy, 

She is always on hand to receive an old friend, 
And her doors never close on the needy. 

As this shot effectually silenced her witty and sar- 
castic battery, and she has not since returned to the 
charge, I have no way of telling what disposal she 
made of the verses, but 1 presume they occupy a 
prominent place in Mrs, Jones* scrap-book. Good 
bye, when you hear from me again, my letter will be 
dated from Columbus, Ohio, to which place 1 am 
about to remove, with the intention of making it my 
future residence. 



|)at:J 0ccotib. 



To my friend Andy. 



My dear old companion allow me the pleasure, 

Of expressing my feelings in old fashion'd measure. 

As no other suitable style could I find, 

For those old reccollections so dear to my mind. 

How often in rerery's dreams do I rove, 

'Mid my own native hills, which surround the Great 

Cove. 
On fancy's light wings to their summits T go 
To gaze with dehght on the landscape below. 
There spread out beneath me, how vivid it seems, 
Are the woods and the fields, the meadows and 

streams, 
The road that leads up, and the road that leads down, 
And the turnpike that leadc through the midct of the 

town, 



86 TO MT FRIEND ANDY. 

Its turnings and windings I follow on still. 
Till they're lost o'er the top of the opposite hill. 
I see the old church where in earliest youth, 
I sat 'neath the sound of the Gospel of truth, 
And the old stone school-house, that prison abode, 
Where I trembled each day at the sight of the rod. 
And watched the old tyrant who sat there with 

specks. 
Looking cross-ey'd, and sideways, whilst eyeing our 

tricks, 
Till assured of his game, then came round with his 

stick, 
And down on our backs **like a thousand of brick." 

******* 
I sought for a friend who was clever, and true, 
And happily found one to please me in you. 
I studied you well, and i found you possessed 
Of a generous heart in a true Irish breast, 
I cherished you then, and 1 cherish you yet, 
With feelings I know I shall never forget, 
T think of thee, friend, on the bright summer morn, 
JSuch a time as wt; stroll'ti through the fields of green 

corn, 
You theorized deep on the nature of soils 
On niintrajs, clavs, and biuuninuus oils, 



TO MY FRItND ANDY. 87 

How these are dissolved by the action of rain 
And become the constituent parts of the grain. 
I think of thee friend, in the twihght's dim shade. 
The time which for sweet recreation was made, 
When released from your toils, you took down the 

red fiddle. 
And made it speak out to the tune Yankee Doodle, 
Or R(.>ry O'More, or some old Scottish air. 
While I rocked the time in the split-bottomed chair. 
I think of thee friend, in the winter's long nights, 
When the fire-side is sought for its social dell^-hts, 
How we sat by the largt^ kitchen chimney and smoked 
And reasoned on science and argued aiid joked — 
Discussed with some warmlh each political broil, 
Whether Loco, or Native, or Whig, or Freesoil, 
Until somewhat excited, you ventured so far 
As to say, that Polk made the whole Mexican War, 
Then worked yourself up quite into a sweat, 
At the awful big lies oi the Bedford Gazette. 
1 think of thee friend when in spirit depress'd 
A load of dull care presses hard or. my breast, 
And long for that friend, whose heart ever flows 
With the tenderest feelings which sympatj.y knows. 
1 think of thee friend, whtn 1 i^iix with the fair, 
Who^e smooih glossy ringlt-ts ui bri^^ht auburn hair, 



88 TO MY FRIKKD ANDY. 

Hang in tasteful profusion, half hiding the graces, 
Which play o'er the features of beautiful faces, 
For I know your susceptible heart ever warms 
At the sight of these heavenly feminine charms. 
And that soon you may leave the lone bachelor's life, 
For a beautiful, fruitful and dutiful wife, 
Is the prayer of your friend, who considers himself 
For a bachelor booked, and laid upon the shelf. 

Columbus, Jan., 15, 1851. 



I?IY IVATIVE IfIOI^T/%i:\S, 



*Tis midnight; on the mountains brown, 
The cold round moon shines deeply down: 
Blue roll the waters; blue the skj, 
Spreads like an ocean hung on high, — Byron. 

Thou prince of rhymo, immortal bard, 
Whose numbers sweetly, softly roll; 

Thy words do touch the tenderest chord 
That vibrates quick within my soul. 

Their sound strikes on my mem'ry's ears. 
With pleasing melancholy chime — 

And leads me back o'er lapse of years, 
Long ere I left my native clime. 



90 MY KATIVK MOrXTATK^S. 

There midst the mountain crags I roved. 
Free as that very mountain's air; 

Its lofty peats I dearly loved, 

My heart's affections all were there. 

In the calm hour of eventide, 
On mild autumnal sombre days, 

I loved to saunter on its side — 
Enveloped in the fleecy haze. 

I loved to course the purling stream 

That murmured round its southern base; 

Deeply absorbed in waking dream, 
In that secluded, lonely place. 

I loved to see the n^oun tain storm. 
Slowly gatheriiig in its might — 

'Till the dark clouds in fearful form 
Seemed res Ling on its rugged height, 

I loved to see the lii^jhtnino's flash 

Hul'l the tail pine in fragments' round— 

And hear the thunder's awful €rash, 
Shake the firm hills with jariing sound. 



MY NATIYK M0TTNTATK3. 

Oh! then my swelling soul would fill 

With rising thoughts sublime and grand- 

Of him who curbs the storm at will^ 
And holds the thunders in his hand, 

I loved to hear the whirlwind roaiv 

Strewing with boughs the valleys green; 

Then See the long dark night come o'er. 
And close in blaokness on the scene. 

I loved to see the morn awake. 
After a night of storm and dread; 

To see the sun in brightness break. 
And o'er the vale his gloi y spread. 

I loved to breathe the morning breeze. 
And slowly climb the winding path — 

O'er shiver'd rocks, and fallen trees. 
The fragments of the tempest's wiath. 

But far above each lovely scene 

That pen can paint, or fancy knows, 

I loved the silence, calm, serene— 
Of midnight's hour of deep repose. 



91 



MY NATIVE MOUNTAINS. 

Oft at this hour, by feeling swayed, 
Or something which I could not tell; 

With slow and pensive step I've strayed, 
Far in the depths of mountain dell. 

Whilst riding high, the silent moon 
Poured from her zenith altitude, 

Her soothing rays melliflous down, 
Bathing the crags with silvery flood. 

At such a time, like spirits free. 

The soul holds converse high and good- 

A silent wordless colloquy, 

With nature in her lovliest mood. 

There is a spirit in this hour, 

Could e'en the dark assassin feel, 

Methinks its voice would have the power 
To melt his hardened heart of steel. 

Oh! could it take a form of speech. 
Expressive of a thing so fair — 

The wicked heart of man 'twould reach, 
And drive out all chat's evil there. 



Dirge of the State House Bell. 



Columbus, farewell ! no more shall you hear, 
My voice so familiar for many a year — 

Those musical sounds, which you recognized well, 
As the clear-sounding tones of your State House 
Bell. 

Ere the red man had gone, I was mounted on high. 
When the wide-spreading forest which greeted 
mine eye, 
Gave forth from its thickets the panthers wild yell. 
As he heard the strange sound of yowr State House 
Bell. 



91 l)rR<;K OF THK i=!TATK IIOrSE BKl.h. 

Unconipatiioned, unanswered,* I sounded alone, 
And mingled my chime with its echo's deep tone; 

Till spire after spire, rising 'round me did swell 
Their response, to the sound of your State House 
Bell. 



I called you together to m;ike yourselves laws, 
And daily my voice was for every good cause; 

When aught of importance or strange was to tell, 
You were summoned full soon by your State House 
Bell. 

As a sentinel, placed on the watch-tower's height, 

Col-umbu«, I've watched thee; by day and by night 
— Though slumb'ring unconscious, when danger be- 
fell, 
You were roused-by the clang of your State House 
Bell. 



But while I watched o'er you, the Fire King came, 
And enveloped my tower in his mantle of flame; 

Yet true to my calling, my funeral Knell 

Was tolled, on that night, by your State House 
BelL 



DIRGE OF THE STATK [iOI-,>E BKLL. 9F} 

Your sons of the Engine and Hose, ever brave, 
And prompt at mj call, quickly hastened to save; 

But alas! their best efforts were fruitless to quell, 
The flames that rose over your State House BelL 

When my Cupola trembled, I strove but to sound 
One pe'al of farewell to your thousands around; 

But you lost, as midst timbers and cinders I fell, 
That last smothered tone of your State House Bell. 

Columbus, Feb., 10, 1852. 






©n Subgc j|aibt)eair. 



A DILAPIDATED POLITICIAN. 

Here's a health to the old political horse — 

May his friends bring him out again on the course; 

His judgeship we know is a popular man, 

And we'll give him some office again if we can; '^ 

For we're longing once more to feed the old rat, 

And see his old shrivelled up carcass grow fat. 

As an orator too, the Judge is a trump. 

For a man with more brass never stood on the stump; 

He can tell of great doings which never took place, 

And swear to them too, with a serious face; 

The Judge is esteemed by the foreigners much. 

He is loved by the Irish, and loved by the Dutch, 

The American's love him, for all of them say. 

That the Judge is the very best man of his day. 



ON JUTGE H/lRDHEAT). 97 

No man in the (own hi« received more al»use, 
Yet Old Hardhead has always been *' right on the 

goose,'' 
A genuine democrat, always on hand, 
A horn of Old Bourbon to take with a friend. 
At the Depot he drinks whiskey out of a jug — 
In the Fifth Waid he drinks Lager Beer from a mug; 
In fact there is not an old whiskey-burnt bloat, 
But swears that the Judge shall have his next vote. 
As a partizan too, the Judge is a brick, 
Or the dregs of democracy boiled down thick. 
Does the party go in for a war against Banks, 
The Judge is the very first man in the ranks. 
Do they go in for Cuba, all right says the Judge— 
We owe the d — d half-breed Creoles' a grudge; 
Or kick* up with England a national fight. 
To be sure says the Judge, *' go in*' its all right, 
Here's a health to the Judge, may his belly grow wide, 
And always have lots of good liquor inside. 
May it stick out each side and stick out before 
Till he never can see his old legs any more. 

January 13, 1856. 



The Supper rathe "States." 

From •* Capital City Fact" of March 14, 1056. 



By invitation, a select party of the friends of Col. 
SiMONTON, assembled at the United States Hotel, last 
evening, and partook of the hospitalities of ** mine 
host," At ten o'clock, supper was announced, and 
chairs set for over seventy persons soon found occu- 
pants. The tables were tastefully displayed and sum- 
tuously laden with luxuries, delicacies, substantial 
and *• corked accompaniments." The repast did re- 
newed credit to the taste and generosity of Simonton 
& Son, and the occasion was marked by an unusual 
degree of social feeling and true republican conviv- 
iality. 

It may not be out of place here, (on behalf of the 
editor of this paper, who was unavoidably absent from 
the cify,) to return thanks for the large number of 
friendly sentiments ofl'ered and Ihe kind feehngs man- 



TO COL. SIMONTON. 99 

ilested towards^ ihr ediior of the Capital City Fact. 
Had the " Coluiiel " bt/en present, he would ct;rtaiiily 
hnve " blushed to hear the bui-den of (hoir praise." 

At the ujsuh! hour for bringing such parties to a 
(dose — one o'clock — the guests retired, all iieartily 
gratified with the proceedings and the entertainment. 

We subjoin one of the toasts complimentary of our 
host, written by John M. Denig. 

TO COl.. SIMONTON. 

If a man would stay a few days in our town, 
And live on the best of good fare, 

Just let the omnibus put him down 
In old Col. Simonton's care. 

There, early or late, no matter what hour, 

As soon as the traveler stops, 
He barely has time to get to the door. 

When out old Simonton pops. 

His jolly red face, is a glorious sight, 
Whicli the stranger is happy to see; 

His shake of the hand gives a thrill of delight, 
For 'tis hearty and strong and free. 



100 to COL. vVlMoNTON. 

On<^' look at the Col. di.spt'la all his cares, 

And quiets his stomach to rest, 
For he knows that a belly like Simonton wears, 

Must be ted on the richest and best. 

Let him come in an omnibus, carriage or stage, 

In wagon or buggy or sleigh, 
In less than five minutes, I'll freely engage, 

His baggage is all stowed away. 

His horse, if he has one, is stabled and fed 
With plenty of oats, corn and hay, 

And under his feet his bedding is spread 
As thick as the straw can lay. 

And then as the stranger sits down by the grate, 

With slippers so soft on his feet. 
He has but a very few moments to wait 

*Till he gets a good supper to eat. 

There's mutton and pork and cutlet and steak. 

And chicken done up in a stew. 
And butter as sweet as the farmer can make, 

With strong tea and good coffee too. 



TO COL. SIMONTOir. 101 

There is bread that*s as light as the baker can bake, 

And biscuits of various size; 
There's tarts and there's custards and all kinds of 

And all kinds of puddings and pies. [cake. 

And then if the trav'ler feels weary and dry, 
And would like to have something to drink, 

He has but to look out 'till he catches his eye, 
And then give the old Col. the wink. 

Or if he is near, just give him a hunch, 
And I'll venture, in less than a minute, 

He'll see a small pitcher of hot whiskey punch, 
With lots of old Bourbon mixed in it. 

And then, if the man wants to talk for a while, 

The Col. is in with him there; 
His capital jokes never fail to beguile, 

And ligliLen a man from his care. 

No matter how tough a hard story is told, 

That no man can credit or swallow, 
The Col. will trump it before it gets cold, 

And tell one that beatf? it all hollow. 



<ri)c "<CitB ioft." 



The following verses, read at the Simonton Festi- 
Tal, on Thursday tyening last, are published by re- 
quest of a number of the participants in the festivi- 
ties of that occasion. If the toast "piles it up too 
steep,'* the responsibility is with the author, J. M. 
Denio. 



C:ol. CSeaiy and the ''Fact." 

SucceFs to the Capital City Fact, 

And health to old Col. Geary; 
For the former has never in interest lacked, 

And the latter has never grown weary. 



TO CCL. aSAKT. 103 

He has stood at the helm, all fearless and brave. 
When temperance storms assailed him, 

His vessel rode Tearfully high on the wsvve. 
But the Col.'s heart never failed him. 

He told the cold-water men, when they gased. 
To blow their great temperance bubble, 

And then when the thing was exploded and past. 
They'd find them Damphools for their trouble. 

He told them that liquor was made for man. 
And none of them ventured to doubt it; 

Then how can we carry out nature's great plan. 
By trying to live without it ? 

He told them the Frenchman must have his good 
And the Irishman whiskey is dear to, [wine. 

The Scotchman considered his ale divine. 
And the German must have lager beer, too. 

He told them the Russian drank brandy in shops, 
Where he called on the Virgin to bless it, 

The pious old Dutchman drank Schiedam 
With a little brown sugar to dress it. [Schnapps, 



104 TO COL. GEART. 

The Englishman fattened on porter and stout, 
But the American's range is far wider, 

For he drinks every good drink that ever came out, 
From brandy, clear down to hard cider. 

So fill up your glasses with toddy well stirred, 
And drink Hill your eyes get bleary, 

For the voice of the people will ever be heard. 
Through the press of old Col. Geary. 

And should ever white paper get dear and scarce. 
Before that his press shall be stinted. 

We'll tear the last ragged shirt from our back, 
And send to the Fact to be printed. 



(gpitopf). 



ON 

STINGY DAVY. 

At length Old Stingy Ichabod 
Has ended all his groans, 

And now beneath this grassy sod. 
Crumble his rotten bones. 

He starved and hoarded all his days, 

'Till living got too high, 
When he at last, to save expense. 

Concluded he would die. 

Whether he had a soul or not, 

Is not for certain known, 
But if he had, when Davy died. 

The Devil got his own. 



John Fortney's Courtship. • 

A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

CAKTO FIRST. 

A Bachelor, tired of his bachelor life, 
Resolved to go in search of a wife; 

For his life had grown lonply and dreary. 
Long years he had passed amid poisonous drugs; 
His only companions were bottles and jugs, 
And boxes of pills and greasy old mugs, 

'Till of these he was sickened and weary. 



JOHN fortnet's courtship. 107 

His sickness was not such a stcknef s as kills, 
But t'was one of the direst of human ills, 

And no mortal could long endure it: — 
'Twas worse than the worst of shivering chills. 
And past the hope of powders and pills — 
Neither colagogue nor syrup of squills 

Could be expected to cure it. 

So he put himself under the Barber's care, 
Who triai'd and greased and scented his hair,, 

And combed his beard in the fashion. 
He thought he would be most tastfully dressed. 
So he bought him a figured and spotted vest, 
With stripes running up and down on the breast, 

Which he had to pay the hard cash on. 

He then selected a glossy siik hat. 
A beautiful cross-barred satin era vat, 

And shirt collars cut a la liyrox^; 
With'buttons and strings to fasten them tight. 
And washed and bleached all snowy and white. 
And starched so stiff as to stand upright, 

Just as if the edges had wire on. 



108 JOHN fortney's courtshij». 

He blackened his boots as black as j^t, 

*Till they glistened and shone as if they were wet. 

And even the heels looked shining; 
He bvushed his hat 'till it glistened, too, 
He brushed his old coat 'till it looked like new. 
And brushed his old pants to make them do, 

Although they were sadly declining. 

Thus rigged, and soaped, and scented all right, 
He paid a visit one Saturday night, 

To a couple of handsome young lasses; 
But as the business was somewhat new, 
He fepred that going alone would'nt do, 
So he coaxed alojig his companion, the Jew, 

Witli the promise of several glasses. 

Indeed 'twas a glorious, happy night; 

The girls were merry, the fire burned bright. 

And tongues ran on with a clatter. 
Besides, the Jew was a famous wit; 
Could quote from all the poets a bit. 
And withal made many a happy hit — 

A litttle too poiated to flatter. 



JOHK FnliT-NJ-.r & COfKlSUit. 10^ 

The girls, in traih, wero a cluirming pair. 
For both were beautiful, chaste and fair. 

And Old ColagOjL^ue was puzzled. 
He almost forgot his part of the play, 
And seemed for all the world, as they say.. 
Like the ass between two bundle? of hay, 

With his mouth most tightly muzzled. 

Thus sorely, alas! he was troubled and tried, 
Till one of tlie girls sat close by his side, 

And gave him a look that was wooing. 
He remembered no longer a word that was said, 
But only a dress that was colored with red, 
Was floating and fluttering all through his head. 

Till he did'nt know what he was doing. 

Old Time winged on 'till the hour grew late, 
And the fire was getting quite low in the grate, 

And surely 'twas time to be starting. 
The snufi" on the candle grew long and slim, 
The grease ran over the candle-stick's rim, 
And spluttered, and flickered, and then grew dim, 

But John never thought of departing. 



110 .H)H\ FORTN'KT's COURTSHIP- 

At iHst tliv Jwv was wearied outright, 

feu liG took up his hat and bade them good night. 

And John made as if he was going. 
But the Jew waited out on the steps 'till he froze 
A piece of one heel and three of his toes, 
And SAvore a whole chapter of terrible oaths, 

For 'twas blowing, and freezing, and snowing. 

At last the Jew could stand it no more. 

So he popped his head in through the half-open door, 

Crying, "John, what the de'il are you at? 
"Why, damn it, you surely must want me to freeze," 
"Come, Jew," answered John, "keep cool if you 

please, 
"For you know that to-night there's a terrible breeze, 

"And I must tie on my hat. 

"Oh, faith," said the Jew, "I now smell the rat; 
" 'Tis your head that needs anchor instead of your 
hat, 

"For I see you are dizzy and reeling. 
"Do not, my dear fellow, be frightened nor start, 
" *Tis a gizzard affection right close to the heart — 
"Three times in my life I played the same part, 

"And I felt this very same feeling." 



JOHN FORTXKl'i COUflTsHIP. J 11 

But, alR«! 'twas a sorrowful night for poor John, 
For all of his former fine spirits were gone, 

And he joked no more with his fellows. 
His face grew long and his cheeks grew thin, 
His smile was a mournful cadaverous grin, 
And he looked like a Monk doing penance for sm, 

And sighed like a blacksmith's bellows! 

'Tis a long and a tragical story to tell 

What happened poor John; — and I guess 'tis as well 

To wait 'till his grief has subsided; 
And then he will finish this sorrowful tale, 
In a song like the moan of the midnight gale. 
And then the verses shant happen to fail 

To be neatly arranged and divided. 



John Fortney's Courtship. 

A SERIO-COMIC POEM. 

CANTO SECOND. 

John Fortney grew thinner and leaner eacli day, 
His flesh from his bones all wasted away, 

And his eyes were sunken and red too. 
His friends besought him to seek for relief; 
They told him he'd certainly die of his grief. 
And it seemed that this was his own belief. 

For he moaned and nodded his head too. 



JOHN FORTNlA-'b COrKTSHIP. J 1 .""> 

His books which had forraeily been his delight, 
And beguiled him many a Uve long night, 

Now lay about scattered and dusty. 
And there lay in fragments, all over the floor, 
His papers with doggerel scribbled all o'er, 
Which oft in a fit of his passion he tore, 

For he'd grown quite crabbed and crusty. 

For a fortnight he shut himself up in his room, 
And passed the whole time in lamenting his doom, 

And nobody dared to enter. 
Neither brother nor sister, nor any of kin, 
Neither children nor cat nor dog came in, 
Indeed for his dearest of friends 'twould have been 

An exceedingly rash adventure. 

The servant who knew not the state of his mind. 
Came in on his regular morning, to find 

His clothes to take to the washing. 
John drew something out from under the bed, 
And in less than a second the boot-jack sped 
With a fearful whiz past the darkey's head—" 

The i<joking-glass terribly smashing. 



)U 



Tbf nigger eould nut grow pale with fright, 
Nor his curly wool stand stiff upright, 

But he did the best he was able. 
'Twas frightful to see his eye dilate, 
'Till the white grew large as a dinner plate, 
Then made for the door, in a bee-line straight, 

Upsetting both John and the table. 

Fear lent him wings, and he'd need of them too, 
For after him pitcher and wash-bowl flew, 

And the nigger for once was'nt lazy. 
The pitcher was large, and heavy and full. 
But it mashed up fine on the darkey's skull; 
The water ran down in streams from his wool, 
And he tumbled down stairs roaring out like a bull. 

That Fortney was drunk or crazy. 

John closed the door with a violent slamj, ^v 

And muttered out something that sounded like 
damn. 

Though he was'nt much given to swearing. 
But forgetting himself in his passion he swore. 
That the very next person that entered that door. 
Should- be served as he'd served the nigger before. 

And would pay full dear for his daring. 



JOHN foUtnft'j^ roi;nT*HiP. 1 1 ~^ 

He sat the •whole day witli his d-ei on thf stove, 
And wrote little verses^addrcsHed to kh love, 

Nor thought of his breakfast or dinner. 
He thought he'd^be willing to fare like the Jew, 
And have his feet frozen stift', purple and blue. 
If he only could find out from some one that knew 

What plan he should follow to win her. 

He longed and he sighed to see her again. 
But even the thought so excited his brain, 

That it threw his heart all in a flutter. 
Says he, I must gather up heart it is plain, 
Or the people will certainly say I'm insane; 
But he tried to muster his courage in vain, 

For it melted down just Hke butter. 

But Fortney, although in a terrible stew, 
Had never forgotten his comrade, the Jew, 

But grieved for his friend's disaster. 
So he sent him a package of flaxseed meal. 
For a poultice to lay on his frozen heel; 
And for fear that his toes might swell up and beal, 

Sent a box of the Hebrew Plaster. 



1 M» JvUy roKlMs,Y's ((tlKlSJIIP. 

Iv'i w tl.c fef ( of the Je\v were so bwollen and sore, 
That it pained him to put them down on the floor. 

Neither boot nor shoe could be got on. 
There he sat with his heels on a cushioned chair, 
And his boots lay down in a corner there; 
And even his slippers he could'nt wear, 

For his feet were wrapped up in raw cotton. 



Fat KoUy. 



Oh ! dout you you remember Fat Molly, Old Chum» 

Fat Molly that lived on the hill. 
How lively and merry, and jolly Old Chum; 

Yes, I love to think of her still. 



Oh ! dont you remember her bosom Old Chum, 
How it rose " like ** mountains of snow; 

For her low-necked dress 

Left little to guess 

Of the beauties that nestUd beloW. 



118 FAT MOLLY, 

Oh ! dont you remember her hoops Old Chum, 

That encircled her body around. 
Full six feet wide 
They spread on each side, 

And covered abundance of groi;nd. 

Oh ! dont you remember her dress Old Chum, 
How it hung in gi eat folds at her feet; 

While its long trailing skirt 

Dragged down in the dirt, 

And stirred up the dust on the street. 

Oh ! dont you remember her ankles Old Chum, 
What a classical form they possess'd; 

Well did we suppose 

That ankles like those. 

Swelled out into limbs of the best. 

Oh ! dont you remember her face Old Chum; 

How it shone like the full round moon. 
What a beautiful glow 
Of health did it show, 

As she blushed hke the roses of June. 



FAt MOLLr. 119 

But change is the order of nature Old Chum, 
Alas ! that such beauty should fade. 

But time flies past, 

And Molly at last 

Is a withered-up, wrinkled old maid. 

Her head has now grown quite gray Old Chum, 
With its hairs thinly straggling around, 

Like the stalks of old timothy hay. Old Chum, 
As it lies scattered over the ground. 

Her limbs are now shrivelled-up stems Old Chum, 
And her skin is so withered and dry 

That the fleas as they skip 

O'er her boney old hip, 

Fall down in its wrinkles and die. 



laxtmtli t0 tfie Htm. 



•*Fare thee well," my bearded crony. 
Thou hast left the single life; 

Such a fit of love Beized on thee 
Naught coulJ cure it but a wife. 

Much as I regret to lose thee, 
Slill 1 would not have thee stay. 

And my pen shall not abuse thee— • 
"Every dog must have its day I " 



TARBWBtt TO THl JMW, 118| 

Yes, dear Jew, I'll miss thee sorely, 

Blest with ev'ry social trait; 
Would that I had gone before thee 

To that blissful married state. 

*'Fare thee well,*' my brother-poet. 
Many a happy time we've known 

With lasses sweet, for well we know It 
Tis not good to be alone. 

No more the midnight hour shall fird us 

Roaring at the witty joke, 
Leaving the ills of life behind us 

In tobacco's soothing smok* . 

Ko more our midnight mirth shall mingle» 
Flowing with the happy eh^ rr — 

No more our jolly glasses jingle. 
Foaming with the lager beer. 

"Fare thee well," my jesting brother, 

I'll not heave one parting sigh; 
Be thou happy in another 

Stronger, dearer, sweeter tie. 



12"2 yAREWELL TO THE JEW. 

And since love hath tamed and won thee. 
Caught thee in its tender noose, 

May the yoke sit lightly on thee. 
Never wishing to be loose. 

May domestic peace be with thee, 
Both together growing old. 

And no smoking kitchen chimney 
Ever cause thy wife to scold. 

Farewell, Tew. until I meet thee, 
Though to wed 'tis growing late, 

Yet, ere lung, I hope to greet thee 
In the matrimonial state. 



KittB ©'oriack 



Kitty O'Clack. 

We feel proud of the opportunity of giving " Kitty 
O'Clack" a start in the world. She has heen a res- 
ident in *• our neighborhood " for a long time, and we 
have no doubt but there are other localities in which 
her tongue has become equally familiar, and that 
many will recognize her as an old acquaintance! 
The history is well told — the verses jingle very like 
Saxs's •• Miss McBride," and Mr. Denig, in our 
opinion, has succeeded in proving himself a *' Poet'* 
of rather uncommon ability, in the following produc= 
tion: [ Ed. Columbus Gazette. ] 

KITTY O'CLrACK, 



Near the village of Dogtown, just within sight, 
Is a long, narrow lane, leading off to the right, 

And running some half a mile back- 
Where its old, and stony, and grass -grown road 
Is lost in the leaves, as it enters the wood — 
Some mouldering logs still show where stood 

The cabin of Kitti O'Clace, 



"1/26 KTI lY o'r'l.ACK. 

She wasn't, a spinster past marrying grown; 
Nor yet a poor widow who Hved all alone — 

But. the wife of old Johnny, the Sexton; 
Moreover, the " oldest inhabitant" said 
That Kitty had thrice in her life been wed. 
One husband alive, and the other two dead— 

And she hoped still to bury the next one ! 

But perhaps the " oldest inhabitant " lied, 

When he told how Kitty's first husband had died, 

Far 'twas rather a strange narration; 
He said that she took such a fiendish delight 
In rating and scolding him day and night, 
That at last he gave up the ghost from affright— 

Or rather from pure vexation. 

The second one meekly, submissively, bore 
Her withering tongue for a year or more, 

Then fled, leaving Kitty behind him; 
He sailed for a while on the fathomless deep; 
But the sound of her voice so troubled his sleep, 
That at length he plunged in the sea with a leap-^ 

For fear she would follow and find him. 



KITT\ o'lLACK. 127 

» 

Poor Johnny, the sexton, was husband the Ll)ird; 
For many long years her scolding he'd heard, 
Till he trembled whene'er he look'd at her; 
Full many a time in the grave-yard alone, 
l^id he lean on his mattock handle and groan, 
And wish that the grave that he dug were his own- 
So weary was he of her clatter. 

Yes, Kitty 0' Clack was a fearful scold — 
Her tongue grew sharper as she grew old, 

No mortal courage could stand it; 
Her voice was shrill, and ringing, and clear, 
'Twas a piercing terror to every ear — 
She kept the whole village in trembling fear, 

So terribly could she command it. 

Her eyes were small, and searching, and keen, 
A kind of a flashing, invisible green, 

And snapped with malicious twinkle. 
Her cheeks were a shade 'twixt yellow and buff, 
The tip of her nose was browned with snuff. 
Her forehead was low, and scaly, and rough 

With many a frowning wrinkle. 



njS KlliV O'CLACK. 

« 

Her chin turned fiercely up at her nose. 

Till both seemed threat'ning and ready for blows, 

For they shook with an angry rattle; 
Full many a bitter, sarcastic word, 
And even the " lie " had often been heard, 
To pass between them, yet- never occurred. 

Such a thing as a regular battle. 



One time-worn tooth, thejast of his race, 
Like a faithful sentinel, stood in his place, 

Till age had rendered him hoary; 
In many a fearfully raging storm 
When the stoutest hearts had quailed with alarm, 
He stood at his post, all fearless of harm, 

Like a veteran bronzed with glory. 

No children had Kitty, to keep her at home, 
And so she made it her business to roam 

All over the village at pleasure, 
To gather the news wherever she went, 
And surely no messenger erer was sent 
So much on the work of his mission intent, 

For gossip to her was a treasure. 



KITTT 0*CLACK. 1£9 

Yes, a living budget of gossip was she. 

With many exchanges, which^came to her free— 

Ko item could ever escape^her; 
The telegraph wires might fall with the gale, 
And snows or floods might hinder the mail, 
But Kitty had never been known to fail 

With her regular daily paper. 

And yet no paper had she, for indeed, 
Poor Kitty had never been taught to read— 

'T was mern'ryj^alone, that availed her; 
And where but a part of a story was known. 
And the scandal had'not suflBciently grown. 
She'd finish it out with some of her own 

Invention, which never had failed her. 



She visited rich, and she visited poor, 
And gathered a little at every door. 

For gratuitous distribution; 
She had learned all the secrets of every hearth-^ 
What ev'ry man in the village was worth — 
To every ambiguous marriage or birth 

She could furnish the proper solution. 



130 KlTrV o'ci.ACK, 

She knew that tbe Cl)i]son's, who made such dis- 
Had cheated their hired girl out of her pay, [play. 

Till she left such a poor situation. 
She knew that the Joneses were deeply in debt, 
Their last new silks were n't paid for yet, 
Besides, that Old Jones had gambled and bet 

Till he'd squandered his whole plantation. 

She knew that the haughty old Mrs, McCloud 
Was a regular cod-fish, poor and proud, 

Though it pained her exceeding, to say it; 
She had but a single silk dress to her back, 
And that an old changeable, colored up black; 
For a patch, no matter how neat, left a track. 

Which, scrutinized well, would betray it. 



She knew that the Smiths had got into a snarl, 
That Smith and his wife had a terrible quarrel — 

For she never had rightly obeyed him. 
She knew that the Johnson's, who lived in such state, 
And pass'd themselves off for wealthy and great, 
Had rented their service of glasses and plate 

From the broker^ but never paid him. 



KITTT LLACK. " 131 

She knew the young lawyer who made himself free 
To visit the daughter of widow McGee, 

For a rake, and a gay deceiver; 
She said she would make it her business to watch, . 
Some scandalous information to catch 
To blacken his name, and break off the match. 

For she knew he would marry and leave her. 

At the sewing society, Kitty was there 
No matter when it assembled, or where; 

And to every tea-party, invited; 
For none in the village so rash as to dare 
To think of denying old Kitty her share; 
They'd sooner have stirred Up a grizzly bear 

Than Kitty 0' Clack should be slighted. 

Then Kitty 0' Clack was a host to take, 
The superintendence of wedding or wake — 

She was better than friend or relation — 
For at seasons like these when chance would afford 
Full many a dwelling old Kitty explored, 
Each corner and cup-board her budget well stored. 

With many a close observation. 



132 KITTY O'CLACK. 

She visited chamber, and parlor, and hall, 
And much information she gathered from all 

With an eager and glorious relish; 
Do-wn in the cellar kitchen she dived, 
And learned how poorly some rich people lived; 
And many things more which she firmly believed 

Could be told without any embellish. 

She looked into pan, and kettle, and pot. 
And there such information she got 

As paid her for all her labors; 
She peeped into bureau, and drawer, and chest. 
And found that some people who seemed well dressed. 
Had clothes that were patch'd and darn'd and press'd 

Kg better off than their neighbors. 



And many a Eoiled kitchen floor she had seen 
In the houses of people considered clean, 

That was greatly, and dirty, and sandy, 
She found there were moths in caipets and rugs, 
She found old bedsteads alive with bugs, 
And what she had taken for vinegar jugs 

She discovered smelt strongly of brandy. 



KITTT O'CLACK 133 

Oh ! a regular carrion crow was she. 
Whose element was putridity, 

The carcass of lost reputation, 
And where disease its infection had spread. 
And others in fear and disgust had fled— 
She sat by the side of the dying bed. 

To gather some bad information. 

Yes, Kitty could live on the air of death; 
She loved the smell of a dying one's breath; 

And many a person had wondered 
At the grave-stone look and the spectral tread. 
And the crocodile tears she freely shed. 
As she gHded about in the house of the dead 

Whom in hfe she had blttjrly slandered. 



She was present when Gridley, the miser, died 
And saw how he struggled, and groaned and sighed. 

And raved about hidden treasure; 
And then in the night, when the fever grew wors2 
He called for his goid, and called lor his purse. 
She was certain he died in a fit of remorse 

After some villainous measure. 



!34 KITTY O CLACK. 

^She had heard the last words of old Granny McCain, 
Who lived in the hut at the end of the lane, 

And was blamed for bewitching the cattle; 
That Granny was leagued with the devil she knew, 
For the night that she died, at a quarter past two. 
The oandle flared up, and then it burnt blue, 

And the windows all shook with a rattle. 



She had witnessed the Jast and tragical strife 
Twixt drunken blacksmith George and his wife, 

When he beat her until she had fainted. 
And then, when she died from her bruises and fright, 
He cut his own throat, such a horrible sight, 
And his house ever since that terrible night 

With ghosts and goblins was haunted. 



Yes, Kitty 0' Clack was a world of lore; 
]No library ever contained such store, 

She was better than school or college: 
What a pity it is, that time and age 
Should ever remove fiom itb earthly stage, 
Such a living volume, whose eveiy page 

Was teeming with useful kiiowled'^e. 



i 



KITTY O' CLACK. 135 

But time rolled on, and Kitty grew old; 
And her •witliering limbs grew feeble and cold. 

And death was longing to have her; 
But year after year old Kitty still stayed. 
For the grim old Spectre himself was afraid— 
And if statagem wouldn't avail him, he said. 

He must let her live on forever. 

But a murky night, as he rode through the air. 
When there wasn't a glimmer of moon or star— 

And the heavens were shrouded in black. 
He peeped in her cabin door as he passed. 
And found the old Jezebel slumbering fast, 
So he mustered up desperate courage at last, 

And he nabbed old Kitty 0' Clack! 



Then deep in the earth a grave was made 

By Johnny, the Sexton, for that was his trade, 

And he sang as he dug and quarried; 
Then he whistled a lively jig, it is said. 
As he heaved in the dirt with his shovel and ypade, 
And danced on the grave when the slab was laid. 

For Kitty 0' Clack was buried! 



A SPIRITUAL EPITAPH ON 



Eere lies Joe Martin who in life 

Kad flow ut spirits ^iad, 
01 8pinLs which were .always good, 

Wiien spirits could l>e had. 

Lut such a flow of spirits high, 

By s|jrits caus'd to flow, 
W ere t^uice too spiritual lor 

Tlie spirit of poor Joe. 

For so much spirits had at length 

Got settled in his clay, 
His peaceful spirit took odcnce. 

And spirited away. 

And going through the spirit land, 
His spirits well nigh sank, 

For still — though spirits plenty here, 
Wo spirits here were Jjank. 

And while he here lamenting s'ooJ, 
With spirits dioupiii^ low. 

His troubled spiiit tlius broke forth 
** la eloquence of woe." 

river JStyx wtrt thou made up 

Of Alcoholic swill, 
I'd lay lorever on thy banks. 

And suck it through a tjuill. 



DAVm BLACK, 

MB HIS SOJ 

RICHARD. 



David Black, 

RICHARDs 



In Enoland's merry land, there lived 
Sonne sixty-five years' back; 

A man of many wondrous traits, 
Whose name was David Black, 

Now David was an English 'squire- 
Besides, the story ran, 

He had been in his early days, 
A very wealthy man. 



140 DAVID BLACK, AND 

He owned his manor with its fields — 

Its num'rous tenements; 
He had his servants, and his hounds. 

And his long roll of rents. 

He owned his horses and his coach. 

In which he oft did ride» 
"With the ancestral coat of arms, 

Emblazoned on its side. 

He owned full many a heavy share 
In various kinds of stocks. 

In railroads, factories and banks; 
In shipping, and in docks. 

He often ventured very deep 

In speculation's schemes, 
And waked with many a heavy loss, 

From its exciting dreams. 

In sporting too, he did indulge. 

Especially the race; 
The race course was of course for him, 

A most beguiling place. 



RT8 BOK RICHARD. 141 

In p'aying billiards, David Black 

Possessed a wide-spread fame, 
For, he was never known to lose 

One solitary game. 

He struck the ball with such a skill. 

That made it take a range, 
Which pocketed the player's balls. 

And pocketed their change. 

In rolling ten-pins too, he had 

The way that always wins, 
Ko man could roll with David Blac. 

That ever stood on pins. 

So when he entered on the game. 

The players looked for squalls. 
It made them roll their staring eyes. 

To see him roll his balls. 

At cards he was a very trump. 

As all his comrades knew. 
For he was up to ev'ry trick 

That players ever do. 



TAVID BLACK, AND 



Amonjr tlipm he was ranked a ^iiia, 

Tl)oiigh often he was Inave, 
For in liis turn to act the deal. 

We took more than he c^-aA'^e. 

kSo quirk his nimble fingers flew 

In shuffling well the pack. 
No matter liow the cards were cut, 

lie turned himself a Jack. 

Old Sledge was David's fav'rite game, 

But he was fond of loo. 
And when he took a hand at whist, 

All honors were his due. 

He played at poker, brag or bluff, 

At faro he would stake 
80 recklessly, that when he won 

The bank would often break. 

He loved the social circle — yet, 

Did not to drink incline, 
Though sometimes in his buoyant hours 

He took a drop of wine. 



HIS SON RICHARD, l43 



At early dawn when lie awoke, 

He took a little grog — 
As lie war, wont to say in joke, 

To clear away the fog. 

At breakfast time his appetite 

Would oft incline to fail, 
So just to set his stomach right, 

lie took a mug of ale. 

Twixt breakfast and the dinner hour- 
Say half-past ten o'clock, 

He felt quite weak, and took a glass 
Of good Old London Dock. 

And then at twelve, he must prepare 

His stomach for a lunch. 
And so he made him up a glass 

Of Irish wiiiskey punch. 

Whilst eating dinner, he would take 

A glass or two of port, 
Or burgundy, or rhenish wine, 

Or something of the sort. 



i44 DAVID BLACI. AVO 

Then after dinner when he felt 

His stomach was oppressed, 
He took a brandy-smash or two, 

To make his food digest. 

And then if in the afternoon, 

He felt a little dull. 
Tc had <ome fine 01 i >^cheidam Schnapps, 

which he took a pull. 

^o mHli;e his • ven'ng-^ pass away 
Wi 1) rn.outh an J hnjfy <"l'-eer, 

iJe talkir'! r.nd sn.oke 1, «rid then he soake i 
liis poiuus skin wicii beer. 

For fear the lager would affect 

His stomach, or his head. 
He took a glass of Holland gin, 

Before he went to bed. 

And if he wakened in the night— 

As was often the case, 
He kept some Old Jamaica Rum, 

In a convenient place. 



rxe SON RICH Alio. 145 

All these he drank for medicine, 

But said when he was dry, 
That nothing ever quenched his thirst, 

But genuine Old Rye. 

He drank when it was very cold. 

Or when it was very hot — 
He diank whtn he had much to do. 

And drank when he had not. 

He drgnk when it was very dry, 

Or when 'twas very wet; 
lie diank tiouittiUiis to cool him oil — ^ 

tyiiitiiUAS to make hmi sweat. 

Sometimes he took a drink because 

He did'nt kel quiie well, 
And then again, he drank because — 

In fact he could 'nt tell. 

He diank when e'er he went abroad, 

And when he staid at home; 
He drank when e'er he danced to meet 

tome good old College cLum, 



146 DAVID BLACK, AND 

He drank too, when he i'elt himselt 

A HtLle out of trim, 
He drank too when he met a friend, 

Or when a friend met him. 

He drank wlien friends came in to see, 
And drank whilst they did stay, 

And then he took another drink, 
Before they went away. 

He drank before his morning walk, 
To make him fresh and strong — 

And very fearful of fatigue, 
He took a flask along. 

David could drink vvhcne'er he would, 
And Avonld whene'er he could, 

Liquor of almost any kind, 
Whether 'twas bad or good. 

Good hquor he would always praise, 
The bad he'd always blame. 

But good or bad, no matter which, 
Its fate was all the same. 



Hlfe aoM KlCllARD. 147 

David preferred the old of collide, 

As judges always do; 
But wlien lie could not get the old. 

He worried down the new. 

Old rot-gut, dead shot, tangle leg — 

Just smoking from the still; 
E'en rilie whiskey he could drink — 

Expressly made to kill. 

But David*Black was always thought 

To be a sober man, 
Though some mischievous persons said. 

That David loved his dram. 

No, David was no drinking man; 

For he was never known 
To drink but when in company. 

Or when he was alone. 

But times and seasons take a change, 

As we, alas ! may learn, 
And fortune's wheel in going round, 

Make;;? many a backward turn. 



149 DAVID BLACK, AKD 

The markets had begun to feel 
Three unproductive years, 

All things grew scarce, and people then 
Began to have their fears. 

Hard times began to be the cry, 
And things grew worse and worse. 

Each one began to tighten up 
The strings about his purse. 

The crisis first began to tell 

In speculators ranks; 
^'ext in tl)eir turn, went by the board — 

The doubtful, shaky banks. 

Then larger banks began to quake — . 

Their discounts to curtail; 
Tiie merchants felt the pleasure next. 

And they began to fail. 

The panic grew still more and more 

Liio a ^ci:.cial biridGii, 
And many a heavy house went down, 

In that financial crash. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 149 

The pressure spread from cities large, 

To every little town, 
The price of gold kept going up. 

While stocks were going down. 

From bad to worse a thing of course, 

The troubles soon had gi-own. 
Till people who were not in debt. 

Could scarcely hold their own. 

Now, when a man of moderate m«an8. 

Cant pay for what he gets, 
How is a person much involved, 

To pay his many debts. 

What many persons had supposed. 

Was now indeed too true; 
The cash affairs of David Black, 

Were getting very blue, 

Poor David sadly out of sorts, 

Was in a fearful stew. 
He could not meet his many notes. 

As fast as they came due. 



150 DAVID BLACK, AND 

Grown careless in his later years. 
He'd made investments rash, 

Of which the income did'nt pay. 
The taxes on his cash. 

Etsides, there was another cause, 
Which troubled him the most, 

He'd played a deeper game at cards— 
And often tinaes had lost. 

Once fortune's fav'rite child he was— 

Especially at play, 
But now she served him scaly tricks. 

In this, his later day. 

In horses he had traded much, 
And purchased blooded stock; 

The famous nags of David Black, 
Were once the country's talk. 

But now his judgement had grown weak. 

And came to such a pass. 
That jockeys sadly cheated him> 

And calltd hirn an old ass. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 151 



Of late his num'rous stalls contained 

Cripples of ev'ry kind, 
Wind-broken, ring-boned, spavined nags, 

And many that were blind. 

Now when a man goes down the hill. 

Each one, (as people say,) 
Gives him a kick as he goes past. 

To help him on his way. 

And so it was with David Black, 

For he was growing old, 
And evil people in their words, 

Became a little bold. 

They said that David drank too much. 

And fre(j[uently got high; 
They said he showed it in his face — 

He showed it in his eye. 

They said that drinking long and hard, 

Had fuddled his old head; 
They said he gambled Jate at night, 

And then went drunk to bed. 



DAVID BLAOK, AND 

They said — as gossips always do. 
Who care not what they say, 

That David Black was known to drink 
Full twenty times a day. 

They said that at the faro bank, 
He'd squandered all his means. 

That his estates were covered o*er 
With mortgages and liens. 

*Tis true he'd suffered heavy loss 

In various kinds of banks, 
Hhe/aro bank perhaps it was, 

That played the roughest pranks. 

But David Black had standing out, 

Some very large amounts, 
And now resolved to set about 

Collecting his accounts. 

He dunned his debtors, great and small. 
But found that none could pay — 

For most had run beyond their means. 
And bome had run away. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 153 

Poor David now began to fear — 

To tremble and to quake. 
And knew unless he got some help, 

That he must surely break. 

He tried to borrow of his friends, 

But this he could not do, 
^ They dunned him hard for former loans, 

Instead of granting new. 

In vain he tried to call their minds 

To favors he had done, 
Their memories grew very short, 

For they cuuld think of none. 

He told them how on notes and bonds. 

He'd often gone their bail, 
They lold him, that was no great risk, 

He knew tliey would'nt fail. 

He told them how he'd lent his hand, 

To help them on to fame; 
They answered with sarcastic grin, 

*' There's nothing in a name." 



DAVID BLACK, AND 

Now David had a gen'rous heart, 

And lib'ral hand at least, 
And used t© entertain his friendt. 

With many a costly feast. 

Yes, friends were very niim'rons then. 
Archdeacon, 'squire and lord; 

And many a poor relation too. 
Regaled at David's board. 

Poor erring man ! for all his faults, 
They might have found excuse. 

But where he looked for comfort now, 
He only found abuse. 

His favored friends deserted him — 

Relations stood aloof, 
Or if they had a word to say, 

'Twas censure or reproof. 

They told him with unfeeling jest. 

That when he life began, 
He had as good a chance as they, 

" Or any other man." 



HIS SON RICHARD. 155 

They told him with a poor attempt. 

At a most shameful pun. 
He should have kept /ar off from banks, 

As they had always done. 

They said they did'nt wish to hrag, 

But always knew enough 
In sailing down life's rugged stream, 

To steer about a bluff. 

They told him he had rnn his course 

And if he lost the race. 
He had the start of all of them— 

The more to his disgrace. 

The cup of pleasure he had drained, 

And since the dregs had come, 
Perhaps lie might improve the taste, 

By mixing in some ruin. 

They told him now to stick a pin. 

Which he might see and learn, 
That, allet/s must be short indeed, 

"Which have no crooked turn. 



156 DAVID BLACK, AND 



But since it turned, there was for him 

Some consolation still, 
For he would have an easy road, 

As it was all down hill. 

And if he found it grieved his mind 

With former friends to part, 
Just take his pocket j^ask along. 

To cheer his drooping heart. 

It was too late to help him now. 

For he must go at last, 
They might have helped him once they said, 

But now that day was past. 

The drunkard's curse would do its work— 

His children would be poor. 
And some day, they would have to beg 

Their bread from door to door. 

All hope was gone, and David ceased 

To struggle with his doom, 
He sat resigned with folded hands, 

And let the crisis come. 



HIB EON FTf'HARD. 167 

At first the story was supposed 

To be some TvicLed joke, 
For people could not well believe^ 

That David Black was broke. 

But soon the rumor was confirmed, 

And then the story flew, 
That Darid Black was broken up. 

And broke some others too. 

Then creditors came rushing in — 

Each anxious for his claim; 
^^otfcs, bills, and mortgages foreclosed, 

And then the sheriti came. 

Each urged his claim with all his might — 

It was a desp'rate game, 
And wo betide who had endorsed 

His paper with their name. 

Kow long accounts of large amounts. 

Full twenty years begun. 
They knew that Dayid Black was good 

fco they had let them run. 



DAVID BLACK, AND 

Then heavy notes for borrowed sums. 

With int'rest on for years, 
All added in, and running on, 

For they had had no fears. 

Old quitrents, mortgages and bonds, 
Gone through so many hands, 

That were the paper file spread out, 
*T would cover half his lands. 

Then suits at court, and judgement notes, 

In storms of legal hail, 
Then executions came at length, 

And then the day of sale. 

A fearful thing it is to feel. 

The talons of the law; 
Ko mercy does it show to him, 

Who falls beneath its claw. 

No bowels of compassion move, 

For widow or for son. 
Its iron heart can never feel, 

The mischief it has done. 



HIS SOX RICHARD . 159 



And tl)ns it was in David's rase; 

His hoiisps and liis lands. 
His cherished old paternal home, 

Passed into other hands. 

His goods and chattels all were sold. 

Nor was the process stayed, 
Until there was no more to sell, 

Yet much remained unpaid. 

With dissipation broken down, 
His -jvreak and tottering brain, 

Almost succumbed beneath the stroke 
Bordering' on the insane. 

With broken health, and spirit too, 

He hung his troubled head; 
And wished that he had ne'er been born. 

And wished that he were dead. 

But David had a loving wife, 

Whose heart had ne'er grown cold, 

Whose worth was more than all he lost,, 
Yes worth her weight in gold. 



160 DAVin BLACK, AWP 

Kow she possessed some small estates. 

Held in her virgin name, 
And these could not of course be touched, 

By creditor or claim. 

Some hundred pounds, by selling these. 

She had at her command, 
And with this wreck of better days. 

They left their native land. 

Borne on the rough Atlantic tide, 
With tearful eyes they sailed, 

Nor did they stop, until the shores 
Of freedom's land were hailed. 

There David Black, an altered man, 

With his devoted wife. 
Began the world anew, resolved 

To lead a different hfe. 

Three times in life they had been called, 
A daughter's death to mourn. 

But now to smooth declining years, 
An only son was born. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 161 

It is indeed a great event 

To greet a new born child, 
The parents always weep for joy, 

And all around go wild. 

And so it happened with the Blacks, 

When Richard came to light ; 
Unparalelled excitement reigned. 

On that eventful night. 

It happened in the night of course. 

As such things mostly do, 
For babies born in day-light, are 

Comparatively few. 

Three doctors in attendance there. 

Two midwives and a nurse, 
And twelve old women bustling round, 

To make confusion worse. 



Lights flit about from room to room. 
And up and down the stair; 

Towels, basins, cloths, and other thmgs 
Are carried here and there. 



162 DAVID BLACK, AND 



Then all the household gather round 
'J'he new born child to see, 

And then a bounteous feast is spread. 
With cordials wine and tea. 



Then the old women hasten out. 

The joyous news to tell, 
That Mrs. Black has had a son. 

And both are doing well. 

A large, and well shaped child he was, 
And seemed robust and hale, 

Full sixteen pounds at birth he weighed, 
Exactly by the scale. 

His father's very image too, 

{So all the neighbors said. 
And then his mother's glossy hair, 

Covered his infant head. 

His hair of course was very black, 

And his two ])iercing eyes 
'V\'ere black as charcoal — black as jet — • 

And cf a wondrous size. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 163 

His broad and deep and lieaving clicst, 

In graceful curve did rise, 
-And then his legs were thick and strong, 

Esjjecialiy the thighs. 

His belly too, was very round. 

To porthness inclined; 
And then his back and other parts — 

But these we'll leave behind. 

Now Richard Black, soon grew to be 

A stout and hvely child; 
And with him, both his parents oft 

The weary hours beguiled. 

They loved to hear his infant laugh— 

His prattle and his noise; 
And see him scatter o'er the floor, 

His trinkets and his toys. 

With joy they saw his first attempts, 

Without a hand to bear — 
To stand alone upon the floor, 

And walk from chair to chair. 



164 DAVID BLACK, AND 

With joy they heard his childish voice. 

In rude attempts at speech. 
And pUed him well with baby talk. 

His little tongue to teach. 

But time rolled on, and Richard learned 

To talk, and walk and run, 
And many little childish tricks — 

And much mischievous fun. 

He took his father's fine new hat, 

To use it as a hod; 
Then built a house of costly books, 

And plastered it with mud. 

And then he stole his father's wig. 

Of thick and curly hair. 
And glued it on the cat with tar. 

Then called the cat his bear. 

He poured a crock of foaming yeast 

Into the housemaid's bed, 
He said he thought 'twould make htr rise, 

Just like it did the bread. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 165 

Tb« house dog too, could tell a tale, 

That is, his tail could tell — 
Of old tin pans and coffee pots. 

Tied to it for a bell. 

But time flies past, and soon the child 

Grows up to be a boy, 
And all the little childish sports, 

He ceases to enjoy. 

Now Richard was a manly boy 

In all his youthful plays, 
But like too many of his age, 

He had some vicious ways. 

For breaking windows, killing birds- 
Young Richard Black was known; 

No boy in all the neighborhood 
Could fling so straight a stone. 

In depredations, made by boys — 

Young Richard was the life, 
And many a watermelon patch, 

Was slaughtered by his knife. 



166 DAVID BLACK, AND 

In robbing apple-orcliards too. 
He led the brave advance, — 

For none could jump a wider ditch, 
Or scale a higher fence. 

And if pursued by man or dog — 

However swift or fleet, 
The way that Richard showed his heels, 

Was a most wondrous feai. 

In wrestling, boxing, playing ball. 

He had a schoolboy's fame; 
For he could beat the very best. 
And give him half the 



But these bright days soon pass away,- 

For life is but a span. 
And Richard Black, grows up to be 

A large and strong young man. 

But scarcely had young Richard Black 
Quite into manhood grown. 

When both his aged parents died. 
And left him all alone. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 167 

His grief was very long and deep, 

But this was useless now, 
His father had ** laid down the hoe,** 

And he must take the plough. 

As Richard wa^ the only heir, 

Of course they left him all^ ^ 

The farm on which he had been raised, 
But that was very small. 

Besides the land was very poor- 
Stones almost hid the soil; 

No one could make a living there, 
But by incessant toil. 

The house was getting very old, 

And needed much repair, 
But this of course could not be done. 

Without the means to spare. 

The timbers of the old log barn 

Were crumbling with decay. 
Its sinking roof, and leaning sides. 

Were slowly giving waj^. 



3B8 DAVID BLACK, AND 

Gates off tlie hinge, tnd fences down. 

Neglect on every band; 
Wild chamomile, and mullein stalks 

Were spreading o'er the land. 

David lay sick, long ere he died, 
And gave his son the sway. 

But Richard had a turn of mind, 
That did'nt lean that way. 

He said he hated farming work, 

Besides, he often said. 
That he would find some other way. 

To get his daily bread. 

He said that he should sell the farm, 
And then he'd move away. 

For he had tried it hard enough. 
And could'nt make it pay. 

He said he would'nt sell on time, 
For note, with bond or bail. 

But offered it extremely low. 
For cash upon the sale. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 1^^ 

The terms of sale were posted up, 

At corners round the town; 
The purchaser pays one-half up, 

And planks the other down. 

But if these terms seemed very hard, 

And more than they could stand. 
He'd take one half in ready cash, 
, And 'tother half in hand. 

The farm however soon was sold, 

And went extremely low, 
For Richard said, the cursed thing 

At any price should go. 

So when the thing was done, he drew 

One long relieving breath. 
And said, the man who bought that farm. 

Will surely starve to death. 

Kow in New England — 'tis almost 

A universal rule, 
That when a man is out of work, 

He takes to teaching school. 



170 DAVID BLACK, AND 

So Richard got liim up a school. 
Which soon was very large, 

Some seventy-five or eighty youths 
Were in his precious charge. 

He knew he was not fit to teach. 

He knew that it was wrong. 
But thought that he would try his lu»k. 

Perhaps he'd get along. 

The day came on at length, that he 

Must stand before the class. 
And as his head -was short of brains. 

He put on all his brass. 

The pupils in arithmetic 

Came forward on the floor, 
A fearful host of slates it was, 

With fio'ures covered o'er. 

o 

Now Richard scratched his troubled head, 

The problems to explain; 
He tried to recollect the rules, 

But this was all in vain. 



HIS SON RICHARD. ITI 

Tlie rules lie got most sadly mixed, 
For when lie multiplied, * 

He blundered on division's rule, 
Which made the sum divide. 

He next endeavored to subtract, 

His luck was just as bad; 
Addition's rule came to his aid, 

And made the total add. 

He tried to work the problem out, 

The answer would not come. 
Says he, before that sum I tried, 

1 thought that I was some. 

But now T find it is not so — 

Convinced beyond a doubt, 
I cannot teach arithmetic, 

So that V\e figured out. 

The grammar class next took the floor, 

Their exercise to parse, 
He was confused enough before, 
• But now he grew much worse. 



172 DAVID BLACK, AND 

In vain he called the parts of speech. 

To order, in his mind. 
But not a single one, could he 

In his confusion find. 

Nouns, pronouns, prepositions, verbs- 
All fled in wild dismay; 

No adjective nor article 
Could he compel to stay, 

Passive, and even neuter verbs, 
Which always were at rest. 

Took on the legs of active form. 
And vanished with the rest. 

An interjection Avas at last 
By tears induced to come, 

Alas ! said he, my speech is gone, 
I surely must be dumb. 

And I would now bewail in words, 
That e'er I iliought to teach. 

But cannot find expression now, 
As I have lost my speech. 



niS SON RTCIIARD. 173 



Geography came next in turn, 
With book and atlas spread. 

To learn where rivers took their rise, 
And where the countries laid. 

This science he had never learned. 

And was completely lost. 
For on the map he could not tell 

An ocean from a coast. 

He lost his latitude entire — 

Completely at a stand. 
For like one driven out to sea. 

He could'nt see the land. 

He could not get it through his wool, 
(Though he had often read, ) 

How that a river's mouth, should be 
The farthest from its head. 

Besides it sorely puzzled him. 

To find the reason why. 
That rivers always emptied out, 

And yet were never dry. 



174 lAVID BLACK, AND 

Another thing he'd studied much, 

But could not understand, 
Wherefore the sea had numerous arms, 

But never had a hand. 

ITe'd read in books, where points of land. 

Ran out into the sea. 
And wondered since it had'nt legs, 

How that could ever be 

He'd heard the world was girdled by 

The Equinoctial line. 
If tliat was all rolled up, said he. 

Lord what a ball of twine. 

He'd often heard of doubling capes. 
And sailing round the horn, 

It is said he unto himself 
Some monster unicorn. 

Van Dieman's Land was, he supposed. 
Where none but demons dwell. 

Its atmosphere must have said he, 
A most sulphureous smell. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 175 



So Ricliard sent away the class, 

And turned himself about, 
Says lie, I've finished teaching school, 

For I have fizzled out. 

Now Richard, though not learned in books, 

Was an ingenious man. 
Could turn his hand to any thing, 

As yankees often can. 

Some other mode of getting on. 

He set about to choose. 
Reflected lono- and then resolved 

To go to making shoes. 

My native town is not the place, 

Said Richard to begin. 
And so he gathered up his traps. 

And traveled down to Lynn. 

Kow boots and shoes are made in Lynn, 

On an extensive scale, 
Then sent away in large amounts, 

For south or western sale. 



DAVID BLACK, AND 

But where an article is made 

On purpose for to sell, 
It follows as a tiling of course, 

'Tis not done very well. 

And tlius it is with boots and shoes, 

Designed for jobbing trade. 
No difference what stuff is used, 

Nor how the work is made. 

Coarse boots are made of damaged stuff, 

'Tis always understood. 
The insole filled with rags and chips* 

The outsole made of wood. 

Fine boots and women's wear, are made 

Of cowhide split in half — 
Of sheepskin, dogskin, hogskin, horse, 

Or anything but calf. 

So Richard rented him a shop. 
And purchased bench and tools. 

And took in boots and shoes to make, 
According to the rules. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 177 



For many months he persevered, 
To peg and sew and stitch; 

And had he been contented then, 
He might have ended rich. 

But while he whistled at his work, 
He had some sober views. 

It seemed to him like coming dowUf 
To go to making shoes. 

As with the lap-stone on his knee. 
He hammered out the sole. 

He thought until his feelings got 
Worked up beyond control. 

His troubled thoughts tumultuously 
Like heaving billows roll, — 

Alas said he, that soul like me 
Should hammer out a sole. 

The upper ten should be my place, 
That truth I feel and know, 

But upper leather's company. 
For me is far too low. 



DAVID BLACK, AND 

I never lliouglit it would be so, 

But sew it is I see; 
I feel I'm at the lowest peg, 

Whilst pegging on my knee. 

I cannot sit contented here. 

With these thoughts in my head; 

Besides, I'll tvax no wiser, while 
I stay at waxing thread. 

And as my name is Richard Black,- 

'Tis very plain to see; 
That if I stay at making shoes, 

A shoe-black I must be. 

Oh what a galling thought it is. 

One's poverty to feel; 
Its iron heel is on me now. 

While nailing on this heel. 

So Richard's pride now hrisiled up, 
Till all restraint was past; 

And down he threw the lasted boot. 
Says he, this iy the last. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 179 

He cleared the tools from off his bench. 

And sat it by the wall. 
Then in his apron packed his kit. 

Knives, pinchers, brads and aivl. 

He laid his leather on a shelf, 

A very wise device 
It was, to keep it from the reach 

Of hungry rats and mice. 

He washed the wax from off his hands, 

And said, without a doubt — 
This thing of making shoes — for me, 

Is totally played out. 

Richard, whilst on his father's farm, 

Had tinkered a good deal 
At sundry little jobs of work — 

In iron and in steel. 

Deliberating In his mind. 

What next should be his course, 

It very soon occurred to him, 
That he could shoe a horse. 



18U DAVID BLACK, AND 

He'd try the blacksmith trade at once, 

And went witliout delay, 
And liired himself to blow and strike, 

For wages by the day. 

His wages which at first were small, 

Grew gradually higher. 
And under such encouragement. 

He worked a year entire. 

The little jobs he'd done at home. 
Were short and easy done. 

But now, (to use a workman's phrase,) 
He worked from sun to sun. 

He'd often said he loved to hear 

The anvil's merry ring; 
But now to ring it all the day. 

Was quite a diff'rent thing. 

With blistered hands he wielded oft, 
A sledge of monstrous size. 

And then before the furnace fire. 
He scorched his tender eyes. 



HIS SOI? RICHARD. 181 

The coal-dust settled on his skin. 

In ev'ry pore and crack, 
His face which formerly was fair, 

Was fairly turning black. 

Then Richard Black said to his Boss, 

This fact I plainly see; 
That such a hard and dirty trade. 

Will never do for me. 

The bellows I have blown so long. 

That I am out of breath; 
Of welding tire for wagons too, 

I'm almost tired to death. 

No longer shall I blow and strike. 

But now I'll strike a blow — 
That is, I'll strike for other parts, 

It strikes me I shall go. 

Dear Boss I gi-ieve to part with thee, 

For truly do I feel, 
My heart is welded unto thine. 

Like iron unto steel. 



182 DAVID BLACK, AND 

But yet, I feel that I must leave, 

I hope 't will be no loss, 
So fare thee well, old Leatherlung^t — 

For thus he called his Boss. 

Forge out thy chain of destiny, 
Thou man of noble worth; 

And ever may affection's fire 
Burn brightly on tLy hearth. 

Perchance I ne'er may see thee more. 

So now a last good-bye; 
And then he wiped a tear, and then — 

A cinder from his eye. 

Now Richard Black had often thought, 

Of emigraang west; — 
And thinking well the matter o'er. 
Concluded it was best. 

So thitherward he bent his steps. 
With dreams of future wealth; 

Says he, I'll make my fortune yet, 
if i should keep my health. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 183 

He wandered o*er the Western States, 

And went from town to town. 
Till in the state of Illinois, 

At length he settled down. 

In quite a lively little place, 

He chose him an abode, — 
Cross Roads, the place was called, because 

Road intersected road. 

These roads he saw, wei*e tTaveled much. 

And said, I know full well. 
This is the very place for me 

To open a hotel. 

He purchased him a comer lot. 

Right on the public square. 
And while he built a house on this,— 

Built castles in the air. 

Those were the busy stirring days, 

Of City building times; 
A man could build on credit if 

He did not ** have the dimes.'* 



184 DAVID BLACK, AND 



Thus Richard built him up a house. 

With many an ample room, 
'T would entertain a hundred guests, 

13 they should ever come. 

Oft did he chuckle o'er his luck. 
And say, "I've drawn a prize," 

This property will make me rich, 
If property should rise. 

And rise it must in course of time. 

For every body said. 
This town would be the central point. 

For all the country trade. 

The town was laid out very large. 

With streets and alleys wide. 
Square after square of vacant lots, 
Streched far on ev'ry side. 

Long rows of stakes drove in the ground. 
Marked out each future street. 

Where grass ere long would cease to grow- 
Destroyed by human feet. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 186 

The future Court-house here would stand. 

Just where this boulder lay. 
And here the school house would be built, 

No very distant day. 

The market-house too, had its site. 

And churches by the score; 
And here the county jail would swing 

Its massive frowning door. 

Here public parks, and avenues 

Laid out with lib'ral hand, 
Which could be well afiForded, for 

There was abundant land. 

A town-plat done in Indian ink, 

Which looked exceeding well. 
With all its streets and numbered lots, 

Hung up in Black's Hotel. 

This soon would be a bus'ness town, 

So every body thought. 
Who ventured here his lot to cast, 

And buv himself a lot. 



DAVID BLACK, AND 

But otlier towns sprung up arotmd^ 

Each backing up its claim, 
With offers and inducements great. 

To ev'ry one who came» 

And soon our little cross road town, 

Had passed its zenith day, 
For travel seemed almost to cease, 

Or take some other way. 

Three hundred souls the town contained. 
When things took such a turn, 

Nor did the number now increase. 
Except by children born. 

Town lots no more were in demand. 

So rapidly they fell, 
That they were put at half their price. 

And yet they would'nt sell. 

Once more the hopes of Richard Black, 

Like frosted blossoms fell; 
His was a **one horse" tavern now, 

Instead of a hotel. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 187 



Yet Richard did not give it up, 

Says he, I'll persevere, 
I may not make my fortune, but 

I'll make my living here. 

For I do most sincerely love 

This keeping a hotel. 
It is an easy — lazy life, 

And suits me passing well. 

Ko more 1*11 travel o'er the world, 
In search of wealth, said he. 

But I will set me down and wait. 
Until it comes to me. 

There on his porch from day to day, 

The lazy landlord sat, 
Though growing'poorer every day. 

Became extremely fat. 

No longer shall I fret said he. 
If things go riglit or wrong, 

I know the world in going round. 
Must carry "me along. 



188 PA\n[D BLACK, AND 



He took some boarders by the week. 

And others by the day, 
And then at times, a traveling guest 

At Richard's house would stay. 

But as his portliness increased, 

Still lazier he grew. 
Till he at length no longer wished 

Por anything to do. 

In servant's hands he gave the charge — 
All things were in their care, 

While Richard smoked his pipe of peace, 
Upon his easy chair. 

"With village politicians he 

Would argue by the hour. 
And then tu lounging loafers tell 

His stale old stories o'er. 

But whilst he took an easy time. 
And freed himself from care. 

Things soon began to manifest 
The signs of wear and tear. 



BIS SON RICHARD. 189 



The costly oil-cloth on the hall, 
Once bright and many-hued. 

Was soiled and torn, and worn in holes, 
And covered o'er with mud. 

The large and spacious dining room. 
Which once had walls of white. 

Had now a dingy smoky hue. 
That struggled with the light. 

It had that mixed ambiguous air, 

Of non-descriptive smells. 
That one can always recognize 

In second class hotels. 

It seemed to be the lingering ghosts, 

Of ev'ry by-gone dish, 
Of coffee mixed with burning meat. 

Of onions and of fish. 

And then a whiff of mouldy bread. 
Came floating on the breeze; 

Then roaches mixed with rancid lard. 
Cabbage, and rotten cheese. 



IDO PAA^ID BLACK, AND 



The mouldy"", mousey, musty smell 

Of cupboards in the wall; 
Dead fumes of old tobacco pipes 

Mixed in, and over all. 

The table cloth which once was white, 
And showed each folded crease, 

Was now a soiled and wrinkled rag, 
Covered with spots of grease. 

Large maps upon its surface spread, 

Of continent and sea. 
The stains of gravy broth and soup, — 

Of coflfee and of tea. 

And when the dishes could no more. 

The many grease spots hide, 
The lazy housemaid turned it o'er, 
And used the other side. 

It had that stifling putrid smell, 

Which ev'ry sailor knows, 
Of emigrants long out at sea. 

Without a chanii-e of clothes. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 191 

But entering the kitchen door, 

The place at last was found, 
That might with honest truth be called, 

Pure democratic ground. 

Here tubs and pails and dinner pots. 

And pots of low degree j 
Felt sociable, and quite at ease 

In kettle's company. 

The pot did not call kettle black, 

Nor kettle reflect on pot, 
For no reflecting surfaces, 

Had either of them got. 

Here underneath the cooking stove. 

The bread and cakes, and pies 
Were placed, to get a gentle warmth 

And make them quickly rise. 

Here lay the household dog and cat, 

In this their snug retreat. 
With boots and shoes, and dirty socks/ 

Drawn off" from dirty feet. 



192 rAVID BLACK, AND 

And here that instrument of death,— 
The fine tooth comb was found. 

With the slain victims of its wrath, 
In numbers lying round. 

Pale, bloodless, lifeless — flattened scales. 
Dead skins of creeping cattle; 

The doughchest's lid, turned upside down, 
Had been the field of battle. 

Thus Richard's tavern moved along, 

As day succeeded day; 
And seldom any thing disturbed 

The tenor of its way. 

But ev*ry chapter has its end. 

Let it be e'er so long. 
And things the best of human make. 

Will oftentimes go wrong. 

Ko temper so phlegmatic but 
It sometimes will grow warm, 

As oft times o'er the smoothest sea, 
There comes a fearful storm. 



HIS SUN RICHARD. 193 



'T was on a sultry summer day, 

About the end of June, 
That Richard settled in his chair. 

To doze the afternoon. 

The daily coach in passing through, 

Drove up to Richard's door; 
'T was strange, as this had not been done. 

For many months before. 

It was an interesting thing. 

Which stirred up half the town, 

To see a stranger stop at Black's, 
And set his baggage down. 

He was a very well dressed man- 
Commanding in his air; 

With very long mustache and beard. 
And long and curling hair. 

His coat was of the finest cloth, 

A gay and flashey vest. 
And pantaloons the latest style, 

Made of the very best. 



194 DAVID BLACK, AND 

A massive watch of finest gold, 

With heavy golden chain. 
And spectacles with golden rims. 

And golden-headed cane. 

His trunk was large, and heavy too. 

For this the servants told. 
And soon 't was whispered round about. 

That this was filled with gold. 

He was a ver}'^ quiet man, — 

Peculiar in his way. 
About the news and common things. 

He had'nt much to say. 

He said he was an only heir. 
With wealth at his command. 

And wished to travel through the west. 
And speculate in land. 

He said he meant to stay some weeks, 

To see what he could do. 
And if he liked the country round. 

He'd buy a farm or two. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 195 



He had abundant means to pay, 

For bedding and for board. 
And wished to have the very best, 

The tavern could afford. 

Richard rigged up his largest room 

In elegant repair. 
And hoped that his distinguished guest, 

Would find it pleasant there. 

His private table he must have. 

With many a costly dish — 
The choicest parts of beef or fowl — 

Of turtle and of fish. 

Domestic meats for him he said. 

Had grown a little tame. 
And so he ordered up each day, 

Some rare and costly game. 

For breakfast he was very fond, — 

Of oysters, eggs and tripe; 
At supper time, his fav'rite dish 

Was woodcock, c[uail or snipe. 



106 DAVID BLACK, AND 

Wild turkey, flanked by canvass backs 
For dinner he would take. 

Lobsters, sardines, and venison, 
With mutton chop and steak. 

He ordered up imported wines, 

Of ev'ry foreign brand. 
Which soon exhausted all the stock. 

That Richard had on hand. 

Baskets of treble X champaigne, 
Were ordered by the post; 

Just charge it in the bill he said, 
No matter for the cost. ' 

Thus things vrent on for many weeks. 
And ev'ry thing was charged; 

Until at length the stranger's bill 
Was very much enlarged. 

Now Richard Black grew very tired. 

In waiting for his pay. 
If he is very rich said he, 

Then why thia long delay. 



HIS SON RICHARD. t&t 



Thougli Richard was not prone to be 

Suspiciously inclined, 
Yet now some wondering doubts began 

To cross his honest mind. 

So he resolved that very day, 

To keep a good lookout. 
And find out where the stranger went. 

And what he was about. 

Soon as his guest had sauntered out, 

As he was wont to do; 
Our landlord followed on behind, 

And kept him in his view. 

O'er hill and dale he followed on, 
Nor stopped to drink or rffit; 

Whilst Richard more uneasy still, 
Hard on his footsteps pressed. 

For many a long and weary mile, 

He followed on his track; 
For now he very plainly saw. 

He was not coming back. 



198 DAVID BLACK, AND 



Richard was very slow to wrath 

Without sufficient grounds, 
But when he got his temper up. 

It went beyond all bounds. ♦ 

His anger burned within like fire, 

Besides the day was hot, 
And Richard's wrath had now increased 

His walk into a trot. 

He puffed and blowed for lack of breath. 
Whilst streams of scalding sweat 

Ran down from every open pore, 
Till ev'ry rag was wet. 

Richard was very fat indeed, 

And very short of breath. 
But vowed he'd catch the swindling thief, 

11" it should cause his death. 

Onward he labored heavily. 

Despising heat and dust. 
Anger had fired him up with strength, 

And have him now he must. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 199 

All kinds of smotliered oaths he swore, 

Of vengeance as he ran, 
That he should die by ev'ry death, 

That ever killed a man. 

He*d horse-whip,cudgel — hammer him 

Till he was black and blue; 
He'd cut the rascal's lying throat — 

He'd cut his heart in two. 

He'd break his head and all his bones, 

If he could once be caught, 
Or if he showed the slightest fight, 

He'd shoot him on the spot. 

Ten minutes now behind the time, 

He reached the railroad town; 
For just as he was coming in. 

The train was passing down. 

In quick and breathless haste l^c learned. 

The fugitive was gone, 
Just as the train was moving off, 

The rascal clambered on. 



200 DAVID BLACK, AND 

Full seven Kours must now elapse, 

Before the evening train; 
To wait for it and follow him. 

Would surely be in vain. 

He hired a horse and buggy then. 
And paid extremely high; 

No matter for the cost, said he 
I'll have him now or die. 

Next town they make a change of cars. 

And stop an hour to dine. 
So if this horse can make the time, 

The rascal will be mine. 

A heavy shower came pouring down. 
And wet him to the skin; 

But though it cooled him off without, 
His anger burned within. 

Away he dashed with reckless speed, 

Along the country road, 
Until his horse's flying heels 

Uespattered him with mud. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 201 

Volleys of dreadful oaths he swore, 

And lashed his foaming steed. 
And tried to urge him faster still, — 

Though at his utmost speed. 

At length the station heaves in sight, 
He hears the whistle's scream, — 

The rumble of the distant cars, 
And sees the fleecy steam. 

And now he plies the lash again. 

Till with one fearful bound. 
The axletree is snapt in two. 

And he is on the ground. 

He left his buggy in the road. 

Almost a perfect wreck, 
Then tore the harness oflf his horse, 

And jumped upon his back. 

He lashed and kicked his jaded nag, 

To put forth all his nerve. 
But just to see the hindmost car, 

Departing round a curve. 



202 DAVID BLACK, AND 



No word escaped his quiv'ring lips, 
His nerves were all unstrung, 

For anger choked his trembling voice, 
And paralyzed his tongue. 

He did not swear nor tear his hair, 
Nor curse his luckless fate. 

No words could do him justice now. 
The subject was too great. 

Homeward he went with heavy heart, 
Bui with a lightened purse, 

"Which had to pay for buggy broke. 
Besides a crippled horse. 

He opened up the stranger's trunk, 
To see what he could find, 

1 or sure, thought he, in such a haste 
He left his clothes behind. 

But now his wrath fired up agais, 
At this last shameful trick, 

All that the heavy trunk contained. 
Was cornhusks, stones, and brick. 



HIS SON RICHARD. 203 

He telegraphed to ev'ry point 

To have the rascal caught, 
And waited long, but never heard 

Whether he was or not. 

For many months he went about, 

With sad and lengthened face; 
Full fifty pounds of flesh he lost. 

In that exciting race. 

He swore by all the holy saints, 

And ev'ry thing profane, 
No man that ever walked in boots, 

Should serve him so again. 

He took this oath and wrote it down. 

And keeps it sacred still; 
No man shall stay a day with me. 

Before he pays his bill. 

And here we part with Richard Black, 

Where he intends to stay; 
And here perhaps you'll find him still, 

If you should pass that way. 



204 DAVID BLACK, AND HIS SON RICHARD. 

But if you wish to stop with him 
There is no earthly chance, 

But just to ask him for your bill, 
And pay it in advance. 



THE END. 



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